


Emissary

by musicofthespheres



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, Star Trek AU, secondary ship: bardine, secondary ship: gochi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 01:12:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17012724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicofthespheres/pseuds/musicofthespheres
Summary: When Starfleet's brightest up-and-coming ambassador joins the crew of theUSS Nimbusfor a diplomatic mission, things go awry when old tensions get in the way of the task at hand.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> **Vegebulocracy 2018 Big Bang Entry**
> 
> Whew. Okay. First off, the thank-yous. 
> 
> As the main administrator of this event, I want to give a HUGE thank you to all the authors and artists that participated to make our first-ever Vegebul Big Bang a resounding success. I've made so many new friends over the past several months, and you're all _amazing_.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who offered words of support and encouragement to me and to all the other creators as we tackled the arduous task of writing a whopper of a story (25k+ words each!) without the usual chapter-by-chapter feedback. 
> 
> Thank you to [LadyCressa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCressa), [RockyKelboa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockyKelboa), and [DianaeFox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaeFox) for your indispensable beta-reading and editing prowess. Without you, the story would not be where it is today and I hope you don't mind if I continue to drown you in gratitude forever. 
> 
> And finally, a huge hug and thank-you to my wonderful partner in crime for this event, [thats-my-bulma](http://thats-my-bulma.tumblr.com/), whose wonderful artwork I am proud to display as an accompaniment to this piece. 
> 
> The plot for Emissary is based partly off the Star Trek: TNG episode entitled [The Emissary](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0708794/). The idea for the plot of Emissary came to me nearly fully-formed as I was watching the episode, and I immediately set down a plot to follow--1700+ words of exposition and storyline. A special thank you to LadyCressa for brainstorming and fleshing out those bits and helping to turn it into the story you're about to read. 
> 
> Please note: some lines of dialogue and events are direct translations from that episode to this story. I do not intend any infringement by my sampling of this storyline.

On the eve of her final semester at the West City Starfleet Academy, Bulma stood on the balcony surrounding her dorm building and gazed at the stars. It had been a long road, adjusting to the culture of Earth and its mostly-human inhabitants. On nights like these, when the stars spread without number across the sky, she felt the pain of homesickness and longing for the distant world which she still called home. Only four months remained until she could return and visit her family before embarking on her career. 

The campus sprawled out before her. Lights illuminated the ground and revealed a network of pathways that connected all of the buildings; they wound through gardens and small, well-kept patches of forest before disappearing over the rolling hills. On this evening, Bulma could see a few other night owls like herself making their way back to their dorms to get what little rest they could before the big day. 

The next morning, as she left her dorm for the first class of the semester, somebody caught Bulma’s wrist before she exited the building. She whipped around to make her rebuke, but quickly swallowed her words when she realized who stood before her. 

“We’re in the same class,” Prince Vegeta said. His serious expression sat handsomely on his angular face, and Bulma noted with appreciation the way his muscular body looked in the cadet red of their fourth-year uniforms. “Perhaps we can walk together.” There was a gruffness to his voice that hadn’t been present before winter break, like something had happened back home that now weighed on his mind. 

“Prince Vegeta,” she said, dropping into a perfectly-executed Saiyan gesture of obeisance, covertly eyeing him up and down as she bowed with a gentle smirk on her lips. 

“Stand up straight, woman,” Prince Vegeta said, his face flushed. “You know that we are equals here.” The intensity of his gaze penetrated hers, and she was the first to crack. 

A wide grin spread across her face and, though she felt like hugging him, she settled for a playful punch on the shoulder. “I missed you, ya jerk,” she said, falling into step beside him as he continued forward. “Earth doesn’t feel quite like Vegeta-sei without you.” 

“This planet will never be like Vegeta-sei,” Vegeta scoffed at the comparison. “It is far too mild.” 

“Still, it’s good to have you back,” Bulma continued. Her heartbeat sped up as he returned her gaze with those thoughtful eyes that made her feel like he could read every emotion trapped beneath her carefully-crafted veneer. It grew brittle every time they separated, and she feared— or maybe hoped—that the next time they met after a long hiatus, something was gonna give. 

“I suppose Vegeta-sei wasn’t the same without you, either,” Vegeta replied, face devoid of expression. “You’re lucky you’re only an ambassador’s daughter. I had to suffer all manner of diplomatic tedium while I was away.” 

“Don’t they understand the meaning of the word ‘vacation’?” Bulma asked, arms crossed. “If I were you, I’d make sure they gave me a poolside seat and a piña colada for the trouble.” 

“There’s no equivalent word in the Saiyan vocabulary,” Vegeta said drily. “Though I suppose it would have been a little more bearable, had you been present.” 

“You sure have a strange way of saying ‘missed you too, Bulma,” she teased. “But I’ll take what I can get.” She gave him a nudge with her shoulder to throw him off-balance, but he was prepared and barely swayed an inch, raising his eyebrows at her all the while. 

As they approached the door to their classroom, she turned to him and stopped. They both opened their mouths to speak at the same time, talking over each other, stopping, and then trying to let the other go first. Before either of them could spit out a sentence, they were pushed apart by an influx of cadets and caught up in the throng, scrambling to find a good first-day seat in the lecture hall. By the time Bulma sat down, she realized that he was clear across the room.

After class, Vegeta caught up with Bulma as she left. “Dinner tonight?” 

“That’s usually when I eat it, yes,” Bulma replied with a quirk of her eyebrow and a chuckle at Vegeta’s exasperation. “The usual place?” 

“I thought maybe we could try something new.” 

“What’s this? The prince, breaking out of his shell?” Bulma laughed. “What did they _do_ to you on Vegeta-sei?” 

“It’s part of my new self-actualization,” Vegeta replied, tone serious but intention quite the opposite. 

“I don’t know if I like change,” Bulma said, eyebrows raising. A challenge. 

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Vegeta said with a haughty air. “You are the one who told me I needed to ‘explore my options’.” 

“But that’s what you love about me, isn’t it? When I make you step out of your comfort zone?” 

“Tch,” Vegeta replied, though there was no venom in it.

===============

It was during a mid-semester cram session that Bulma realized the distinct shift in Vegeta’s disposition toward her. It had started a few weeks ago when she walked to class alone for the first time because he’d already gone without her. He never waited for her in the morning again. They still ate together, but he’d begun to feel cold and distant—remaining silent and leaving right afterward like he couldn’t wait to get away from her. And when Bulma tried inviting him to campus events or to do homework together, he withdrew even further into himself.

Initially, Bulma chalked it up to graduation nerves. Their ship assignments were going to be announced in a few short weeks, and the practical aspect of their final year would begin shortly after that. He also had obligations on Vegeta-sei. Maybe he was too caught up in worrying about the future, like she did on the nights when she was left alone with her thoughts. 

She wasn’t even sure why she was taking it so personally. 

In as gentle a way as she knew how, so as not to offend his Saiyan pride, Bulma sat beside Vegeta one evening during spring break on the quad and asked him what the fuck was up. 

Vegeta turned to gape at her momentarily before collecting himself, closing his mouth and turning away to hide his surprise. He shook his head wordlessly. 

“C’mon,” Bulma badgered him. “Is it something I did? Oh, god, is it because you hate my new deodorant?” 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Vegeta groused and wrapped his arms around his knees in an uncharacteristic gesture of insecurity. The jerk didn’t even crack a smile at her self-deprecating joke. 

“Try me,” Bulma said, pushing his shoulder. She would get through to him yet, break him out of whatever funk he’d gotten himself into. If anybody could get through all those layers that he shrouded himself with, it was her.

“You musn’t,” Vegeta said, wrenching from her touch. “It’s not proper to touch Saiyan royalty. You know that.” 

She did know that. And she also knew that they were on Earth, away from the prying and judgemental eyes of the Saiyan High Command. It hadn’t stopped them before; their camaraderie and upbringing had brought them closer than any other human or Saiyan they knew. And she touched him _all_ the time. Punches to the shoulder in jest, arm drunkenly thrown around his neck after a weekend of partying, a consoling pat on the hand when he hadn’t done as well as he’d hoped on an exam… she’d done it all. So forgive her if she was a little incensed. “Geez, sorry, your highness,” she said, opening her palms flat in a mocking gesture of retreat. “I didn’t realize I was talking to His Majesty today.” 

Though the early-morning frosts of winter had long passed, Vegeta’s response chilled Bulma to the bone. “I am facing pressures that you could never understand,” he said slowly, condescendingly. “I have responsibilities toward _my_ people.” 

“I know that,” Bulma said, trying her best not to take offense. As much as she felt like a Saiyan sometimes, she was 100% human. “My dad’s the human ambassador to Vegeta-sei. You think I don’t understand responsibility? So what’s _really_ the problem?” 

Vegeta’s face flushed crimson and he turned away. “I don’t want to talk about it here,” he stated. “There are too many people around.” The quad was mostly empty, and the only people nearby were far enough away that Bulma was sure they wouldn’t hear or wouldn’t care about the conversation. Nonetheless, she obliged him. 

“Then why don’t we head back to my dorm? My roommate’s away for the break.” 

Vegeta shook his head vehemently. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Bulma threw her hands in the air with exasperation. “You’re impossible! What could be so bad that you can’t just tell me?” 

Vegeta sucked in a sharp breath through his nostrils. His tail, wrapped firmly around his waist, twitched with agitation. “Because I don’t want things to change,” he said so quietly that she almost missed it. 

Bulma sat back and relaxed a little. “You know we’ll always be friends, right?” 

Vegeta’s dark eyes fixated on her from under his bangs. “Let’s go to your dorm, then,” he acquiesced, but Bulma knew by his expression it was against his better judgement. 

If only she could figure out _why_.


	2. Part One

Bulma’s deep blue and gold dress floated about her figure as she stepped off the transporter pad. The two crewmen with her began hoisting her crates, but she ignored them as she regarded the ship’s captain and first officer with practiced aloofness. “Captain Roshi, Commander Son,” she said, a warm smile spreading across her face. “It’s good to see you again.” 

“Ambassador,” the captain greeted by way of a small bow. “What a surprise. Starfleet command didn’t tell us whom we’d have the privilege of hosting.” His eyebrows raised, and he chuckled with amusement as he turned toward his first officer. “What’s the stardate again, commander? Feels like I’ve been thrown back a decade into the past.” 

Commander Son grinned at his superior. “I think it’s only been seven years, captain,” he replied, then turned toward their guest. “Bulma, it _has_ been a long time. How are you?” 

Bulma allowed him to take her arm as they escorted her from the room and into the familiar, pristine white halls of the _Starship Nimbus_. She was shown to her quarters, where her belongings had already been deposited. When she stepped inside, she discovered her living room would be spacious enough to accommodate guests, and her bedroom housed a king-sized bed. 

“Please join me on the bridge when you’re settled,” Captain Roshi said, and with a not-so-subtle onceover, turned on his heel and retreated down the hallway. 

Bulma’s lip curled at the creepy old professor-turned-starship captain as he left, and she turned toward the commander. “I see he hasn’t changed a bit,” she said with a knowing smirk. “And neither have you. I guess you haven’t found a woman able to tame you yet.” 

Commander Son blushed and rubbed a hand through his wild Saiyan hair. “Heh, I don’t think it’s _me_ who needs taming,” he said, looking down at his feet with a soft smile. 

Bulma lifted an eyebrow and invited her old friend to take a seat. “Would you like to stay for dinner tonight? You can bring your _untamed_ lady friend too,” she said, casually rifling through her crates and producing a capsule containing a specialized replicator. “I brought your favourite.” 

Goku stammered at Bulma’s tease and looked like he was about to deny it, but he turned his attention to the device in her hands instead. “We have replicators aboard the ship, you know,” he said. At the blank expression Bulma gave him, he amended, “I know, nothing compares to a Briefs family special, but the captain will invite you to join us at dinner. And I think I’ll need a little time before- that is, she-”

“You don’t have to tell me, it’s okay. It won’t hurt my feelings _too_ much.” Bulma gave him a wink to put him at ease, then turned the conversation abruptly to business. “Commander, Roshi briefed you on the mission, did he not?” 

“C’mon Bulma, no need to be so formal. You can still call me Goku. ...And yes, he did. Why?” 

“Then you must know that I’m going to need you at my side when we make contact with the _Legacy_ in response to their distress signal. I specifically requested a vessel with a Saiyan aboard because this would be difficult without an actual Saiyan present.” 

“Uh, about that,” Goku said, but was interrupted by the comm. 

_Commander Son to the bridge._

“I’m on my way,” Goku replied, then turned back to Bulma. “Come with me. I think you’ll understand why you’re aboard _Nimbus_ if I introduce you to our tactical officer.”

===============

As the turbolift’s doors opened with a stately _whoosh_ , Bulma got her first look at the Nimbus’ bridge in years. Like its captain, it felt as though nothing had changed—save for a few obvious upgrades here and there to the upholstery and panel configuration.

“Ambassador, good of you to join us,” Captain Roshi greeted them. He turned to his first officer. “Commander, we’re going to make a pitstop at Kami’s Lookout to bring on a few extra crew, orders of the admiral himself.” 

“Aye, captain,” Goku said and left Bulma in the company of his captain to go and make the necessary preparations. 

“I hope you will enjoy your stay aboard the _Nimbus_ ,” Roshi said. “I understand you are already acquainted with many members of my crew.” 

“I look forward to seeing all of them,” Bulma said, walking down the ramp and glancing around at all of the curious faces on the bridge, some familiar and some new. “Commander Son and I–” she said and then stopped mid-sentence as a certain officer caught her gaze. “I’m sorry captain, is _he_ your tactical officer?” She gestured to a man standing at the console to the left of the bridge, who now turned his attention toward her with an expression that mirrored her own disbelief. He looked different. Older, obviously, but even the way he carried himself had changed. He’d become as rigid as she remembered every other member of his family being. 

“Oh, are you also familiar with Lieutenant Vegeta?” Roshi asked.

Bulma didn’t turn to face him when she replied. “Yes, sir. We went to the academy together.” 

“Excellent. I’ve assigned him to be your right-hand for this mission.”

Bulma’s face fell. 

“I’ve asked that Lieutenant Vegeta assist you in strategizing in the days we have remaining before we make contact with the _Legacy_.” Roshi turned toward Vegeta. “Lieutenant, please make sure Ambassador Briefs has whatever she needs for the duration of her stay with us.” 

There was a long pause as Vegeta and Bulma stared at each other before the lieutenant nodded. “Aye, sir,” he said, tone entirely professional but masking the contempt Bulma knew he felt for her. He gestured for her to step back into the turbolift, where he followed and stood on the opposite side from her, hands tucked behind his back and sitting just under his wrapped tail. He looked the epitome of Starfleet decorum and stared straight ahead, not even sparing her a glance. An icy silence stretched between them once the doors closed and the lift descended deck by deck. 

“Ambassador,” he finally said as the doors opened at their destination. He stiffly held out his open palm to indicate that she ought to go first. 

“Very professional, Lieutenant,” she mock-commended him. “Or would you prefer to be called _Prince_?” She allowed a tiny smirk to adorn her lip at the sarcastic inflection in her last statement. 

“As long as I am an officer on this vessel, you will address me as such,” Vegeta stated coldly. 

“And as long as I’m the Ambassador by whose wishes the captain has been ordered to comply, I outrank you, _Lieutenant._ ” Bulma was going to enjoy pushing him to the limits of his patience. “Now let’s get to it, shall we?” she asked in the brightest tone she could manage, just to annoy him.

===============

The mission looked straightforward on paper: contact and assist a Saiyan generation vessel who’d sent out a distress signal. But of course, Bulma’s missions were never merely straightforward. The _Legacy_ , as it was called, had been out of contact with Vegeta-sei for a century after being deployed into deep space.

The war with the Federation had only been over for the last 35 years. 

“What do we know about the attitudes on Vegeta-sei a hundred years ago?” Bulma asked. 

Vegeta sat across from the conference room table from her, arms crossed. “Anti-Federation sentiments were at an all-time high.” 

Bulma brought her hand to her chin and tapped her cheek. “Hm,” she murmured. “How are we going to fit a hundred years of progress into a single mission?” 

“Tch.” Vegeta tried to hide his contemptuous smirk when Bulma looked up at him. 

“What?” she snapped. 

“Permission to speak freely, _Ambassador_?” Vegeta asked, all snark now that they were behind closed doors. 

She’d rise to that challenge, ready to shoot him down. “Speak your mind, Lieutenant.” 

“The last thing that’s going to be on their mind is diplomacy. They’re expecting a Saiyan vessel and a Saiyan crew. Personally, I think it’s absolute idiocy on the part of Starfleet to be sending the _Nimbus_ in.” 

“I specifically requested a vessel with a Saiyan aboard,” Bulma said, furrowing her brow. Where was he going with this? 

“That’s just it. They saw fit to send a _human_ ambassador.” 

“And they gave me the help of the _Saiyan_ prince. High Command are on their way, but I was the closest option, and I’m sorry if that’s not good enough for you, but we have to make do with what we’ve got. Now, are you going to offer more arguments or do you have any _useful_ input?”

“You need to let me handle the speaking. They will accept my authority.” 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “They’ve been independent for a hundred years. Things will be more difficult than you think.” She paced back and forth before stopping to look up at him again. “Do you have your royal garments with you?” 

Vegeta eyed her suspiciously. “I have some. What are you thinking?” 

“Good, I’m sure we can replicate whatever you don’t have,” she said, dismissing his question with a wave of her hand. “Go bring me what you’ve got, and we’ll start from there.” 

Vegeta watched her as she paced but stayed put. 

“ _Now_ , Lieutenant,” Bulma commanded. How far apart they’d grown.

===============

A day later, they stopped at Kami’s Lookout, a Starfleet base orbiting an enormous blue gas giant. The _Nimbus_ bustled with activity as the staff loaded medical supplies and tuned up the warp coils.

Bulma took the time to stretch her legs and escape the lieutenant. They’d done nothing but argue since she arrived, and he was _really_ starting to get on her nerves. 

Bulma kept out of the workers’ way as much as she could, but she found a prime viewing spot and sat to watch the cacophony. The hangar to which _Nimbus_ was docked had ceilings almost higher than the ship itself and its deck stretched nearly 800 meters across. The station serviced ships, shuttles, and cruisers of all different makes. Bulma could see Saiyan pods amongst them as well. 

A short, bald man with a tattoo on his forehead was guiding one such pod toward _Nimbus_ on a hover cart when he spotted her. “Bulma!” he shouted, waving from across the hangar. “Good to see you!” 

Bulma wiggled her fingers at him in response. Krillin was one of her first human friends at the academy. Beside him stood a tall Namekian named Piccolo who didn’t spare her a second glance, too focused on his task helping Krillin move the pods. 

Once it was apparent that the ship was preparing to get underway, Bulma strolled back aboard and down the hall toward her quarters. 

“Ambassador,” Piccolo’s voice sounded behind her, startling her wandering thoughts. She turned toward him, wide-eyed. He’d never spoken a word to her before. 

“Lieutenant,” she replied, spying the rank pips on his collar. 

Piccolo bowed in formal greeting. “It is good to see you. I understand _Nimbus_ is responding to a distress call and that your services were required due to the delicate situation. Please allow me to assist in any way I can.” 

Bulma nodded slowly, confused at what brought this on. “Thank you, I will let you know if there’s anything I need.” 

Piccolo bowed again, and with that, he left. Bulma turned to watch him leave, but shook her head as he rounded the corner. The Namekians were an agreeable, peaceful race, but Piccolo was different from his brethren. He preferred solitude to meditate, whereas other Namekians were community-oriented. And instead of living a peaceful life, he trained every spare moment he could get. At least, that’s what Krillin had told her. Piccolo had been an outsider even at the academy, but his impressive skillset and knowledge of dozens of martial arts ensured he was left alone by those who would mock him, and sought out by those who required his expertise. 

Bulma continued to her quarters and settled in by the viewport. There were at least two more weeks before they’d be in range of the _Legacy_ \--ample time to choose the wisest course of action if she’d been assigned to any other Saiyan but the prince.

===============

“Captain, I’m picking up a signal,” the communications officer, Yamcha, said. They were a week into their sojourn from Kami’s Lookout and so far, nothing notable had happened.

Bulma sat to the captain’s left, while the commander sat at his right. She hadn’t spent much time on the bridge yet, instead spending her days arguing with Vegeta, catching up with old friends, and writing essays in the privacy of her quarters. 

“It’s on an outdated frequency. I think it’s Saiyan, sir.” 

Roshi nodded. “We’re probably picking up the _Legacy’s_ distress call on a higher band. Means we’re getting close.” 

“I’m also getting something else, but it’s so faint that our sensors can’t make it out. I’m working on amplifying it.”

“Keep me updated.” Roshi nodded and turned to Bulma. “I’d like you and Lieutenant Vegeta to meet me at 1300 hours to discuss your progress.” His gaze lingered on her face for a while longer before he turned back to the viewscreen. 

Bulma nodded, mildly perturbed the way his eyes were struggling to stay above her neckline. At least the old man was trying. There wouldn’t be much progress to report, but they were still a week away.

===============

The spacious conference room where Bulma had spent a better part of the week attempting to make arrangements began to feel stifling. She sat across from the captain but next to Vegeta, and she longed to be in any other seat than this one. But, dammit, she’d been here first and _he_ was the one who sat down next to _her_. She wasn’t about to give in.

“I may not be the ranking officer for this mission, sir,” Vegeta said. “But, speaking as the reason this particular vessel was chosen by Starfleet, we need to do _more_. We have to plan for every contingency.” 

“We have plenty of time, Lieutenant,” Bulma argued. “I’m not expecting the first encounter to go smoothly. We have to build their trust.” 

Vegeta shook his head. “You need to let me do the talking first. Any other solution will only end in disaster.” He turned toward her and spoke condescendingly: “Some of us have an aptitude for battle strategy, and I would suggest you listen.” 

The worst part of this situation, Bulma thought, was they couldn’t even agree to disagree.

===============

A week later to the day, Bulma received a communication from the bridge in the middle of the night. “I’m sorry to wake you, but we have detected the Legacy on short range sensors, ma’am,” the officer said. “The captain requests your presence on the bridge immediately.”

Bulma wished she had more time to prepare. She had to settle for only a light dusting of makeup and hastily-donned ceremonial garb. When she stepped out onto the bridge, she felt woefully inadequate next to Vegeta in his regalia with all of its white plating, gold trim, and the flowing red cape. 

“Their weapons are charged,” Piccolo, who was on shift as helmsman, said quietly. 

“Unsurprisingly, it appears we’ve been led into a trap. Shields up,” ordered the captain. Then, noticing Bulma as she entered the bridge, he beckoned for her to hurry. Once she was in position next to the lieutenant, he turned toward the communications officer and gave him a nod. 

No amount of studying history texts could have prepared Bulma for the sheer ferocity exuded by the group of hooded Saiyans who appeared abruptly on the view screen. 

Roshi quietly murmured to raise the _Nimbus’s_ shields, but not to ready the weapons yet. 

“What is the meaning of this?” the one standing in front and who seemed to be their captain hissed. He looked between the human captain, his Saiyan first officer in traditional Saiyan garb, replete with a hood similar to the one the other Saiyans wore, and the man who stood by them both decked in full Saiyan royal armour. 

“My name is Captain Roshi of the Starship _Nimbus_ ,” Roshi began. “I have been sent by-” 

“I do not address _you_ , human,” the other captain spat. He turned toward Vegeta. “You, who wears the crest of House Vegeta. You defy the tenets of our forebears and lower yourself in this way? You dare stand as an equal next to these filthy-” 

“I am Prince Vegeta of the planet Vegeta-sei,” Vegeta interrupted, his voice more powerful and authoritative than Bulma had ever heard it before. It belied his rank in Saiyan society and his royal privilege, and brought a chill down her spine. The prince resembled his father when he spoke. “By the authority vested in me by the House of my father, King Vegeta, I order you to stand down. We are here to offer our assistance in response to your distress call.” 

The Saiyan captain’s first officer scoffed. “A Saiyan prince, having dealings with humans? With _Starfleet_? Laughable!” he roared. “No Saiyan worth his salt would lower himself to such filth, much less someone claiming to be the prince.” 

“The Saiyan High Command has sent me before you,” Vegeta said, respectfully addressing the officer but turning his attention pointedly back to the _Legacy’s_ captain. “The war has been over for 35 years. Power down your weapons, and we will escort you peacefully back to Vegeta-sei. If you do not comply, you will be taken by force.” 

His command was met with raucous laughter from the bridge of the _Legacy_ and an order from their captain to fire upon the _Nimbus._

Bulma braced herself as the the explosions reflected off the shields, sending a gentle rocking throughout the vessel. She realized that Vegeta was attempting to speak in terms that an antiquated Saiyan society would understand, but she resented his ultimatum. They had so much more to work with, and he’d just set her plans back in a major way. 

The next part of the encounter went about as well as Bulma expected. The _Nimbus’s_ shields easily took the brunt of it and fired a warning shot of its own to show the _Legacy_ just how out-classed it was. It would take days now, if not weeks, to reason with the wayward Saiyans. 

Roshi ordered them immobilized in the _Nimbus’s_ tractor beam to avoid destroying them. The crew set about repairing the shield generators, and Bulma and Vegeta went back to the drawing board.

===============

Bulma stood in the centre of her quarters, hand cupping her chin and covering her smug expression. “You always did tell me that the only thing that outweighs Saiyan Loyalty is Saiyan Pride.”

“This is not the time to be repeating old proverbs,” Vegeta hissed. “And there’s no need to state the obvious.” 

“Are you upset?” Bulma asked, leaning her other arm on her counter and feigning genuine concern. “I told you this wasn’t going to be as easy as you thought. Did you consider that maybe not every Saiyan is willing to kneel before someone else just because they’re told to?” 

“No Saiyan would do that,” Vegeta spat. “But cohesion and loyalty to the royal family have helped my people weather many storms.” 

“So they don’t accept you as their sovereign,” Bulma said with a nonchalant shrug. “So what? This is why Starfleet assigned me to the Nimbus. Stuff your pride back into your pants for just a second and let me do my job, would you?” 

Vegeta sputtered at her vulgar phrasing, but she ignored the tomato-red shade of his face as she contemplated options. “We clearly need to appeal to their pride, because like you said, they’re not going to kneel just because you told them to. They’ve lived on that ship for generations--nobody aboard has been alive long enough to know what it’s like to live in subjection to their planet or the royal family. They’ve had decades to build their own hierarchy, so we’ll need to figure out what the status quo is before we shake it up.” 

“They knew my family crest,” Vegeta murmured. “They clearly still hold some sort of reverence for their king.” 

“There’s an old earth saying that one should never meet their heroes,” Bulma replied sardonically. “Maybe you’re just a disappointment to them.” 

As soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she’d gone too far. 

Vegeta flinched as though her words had flayed his skin. “Maybe so, Ambassador, but I’m still Saiyan, and so are they. I’m not sure what good a _human_ is going to do, and I’m not sure why Starfleet thought it was a wise decision to send you here.” 

“Isn’t it obvious? To set a fire under your ass, because apparently you can’t come up with the conclusions on your own.” 

Vegeta snarled and took to his feet, ready to come to blows if she again insulted him. “Do not think I won’t bring you to your knees before me just because we are familiar with each other,” he growled. 

Bulma lifted an eyebrow. “Is that a threat or an invitation, Prince?” She took a step toward him. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to finish what you started all those years ago.” She bit her lip and gazed at him from underneath hooded eyes, relishing in how uncomfortable her actions made him. 

Vegeta backed up like a cornered animal at the sudden turn in her mood. “Woman, step away from me this instant. Nothing happened then, and nothing is going to happen now!” He bared his teeth, old instincts flooding to the fore as he dropped into a fighting stance. 

“Nothing may have _happened_ , Lieutenant, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t want it to. That you don’t want it to _now_.” 

“You know my station could never allow it,” Vegeta said, the fire instantly gone from his voice. 

Bulma straightened up and dropped the pretense. “So you admit that you want it?” 

“No, that’s not what I said. You are a fool for even thinking I could want a human woman.” 

Bulma’s cold gaze swept over his face. The prick was lying, but she knew better than to call him out on it. “The existence of half-Saiyans tells me that your people don’t find us nearly as repulsive as you all seem to claim,” she spat. 

“Well, maybe if you _were_ half-Saiyan, we’d have a fighting chance to convince the lost Saiyans to come home. But you’re just a sad wannabe who can’t decide which world she belongs to.” 

Bulma balled her fists at her side and, when she found herself unable to control her temper, stormed past Vegeta and kicked over a vase in the process, leaving it to shatter in her wake as she rounded the corner into her bedroom. She might be human, but her temper was all Saiyan. 

Not long after, Bulma heard the tell-tale whoosh of the door as Vegeta let himself out. When she re-emerged, she saw that he’d left the shattered vase where it lay. 

As she paced about her room, still silently fuming, her door chime sounded.   
“Come in,” she sighed, steeling herself to explain what had just happened to whichever unlucky soul stood on the other side. 

To her surprise, it was not Goku as she expected, but the captain’s advisor, Chichi--a woman with whom Bulma was not very familiar. 

Chichi’s long black ponytail swayed as she glanced at the floor behind Bulma’s feet. “I’m almost afraid to,” she replied with a skeptical expression, tucking the strands framing her face behind her ears. 

Bulma stood aside to invite her in.

“I saw the Lieutenant stalking toward his quarters looking grouchier than usual a few minutes ago. Things still aren’t going well, I presume?” Chichi asked with a knowing smile. “He can be… difficult, sometimes.” 

“It’s like you read his mind,” Bulma said, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. 

“Even if I could, I didn’t have to. But I knew he’d be fine. You—not so much. You’re still upset.” 

“Did your empathic abilities tell you that?” 

Chichi simply nodded to the broken shards on the floor. 

“To be fair, that happened earlier,” Bulma said with a guilty shrug. 

Chichi leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “You know, exercise is a great way to blow off some steam.” 

“I suppose you’re going to direct me to the holodeck?” Bulma asked with a wry smile, and had her answer when Chichi mirrored her expression. 

“It’s for your own good. And that of the ship,” Chichi replied, leading Bulma out of her quarters and down the hall. Once they reached the holodeck, Chichi left the ambassador to her own devices with a set of meditations to run through.

Bulma scrolled through the pre-programmed crewman exercise modules until she found Vegeta’s. She knew it would provide a challenge for her; despite being a skilled warrior in his own right, Vegeta and Bulma had been trained under the same masters, and she could hold her own. 

Once the program was loaded, Bulma stepped inside and gazed around at the lush, dense jungle that awaited her. A quick-running stream gurgled a few meters inside, and in the distance, she heard a bird call into the wild. Only yards away, a clearing surrounded by the hulking remains of a transmitter tower awaited her. 

The computer decked her out in an almost perfect replica of her old battle armour from Vegeta-sei; if she didn’t know better, she might have thought it had come directly from her closet. Every detail was painstakingly crafted, and Bulma knew that this was exactly the experience she was looking for. She pulled the leather armour tighter around her middle and the metal plating on her vambraces clanged as she moved. Once she was finished inspecting the stitching (which looked authentic as far as she could tell), she stood up straight. “Computer, my daggers.” 

She never did master _ki_ as her Saiyan counterparts had, but she was deadly enough with her pair of blades that she could hold her own in an arena like this one. The weapons materialized in her hands and she dropped into a stance, waiting for the inevitable surge of enemies that lurked in the shadows.

Almost immediately, a humanoid enemy burst forth from the brush and charged for a full-frontal assault. Bulma coughed as he pinned her against a nearby tree, but was quickly able to break free and take him down with a well-placed dagger in his jugular. Almost immediately, another enemy sprang forward, but she was ready for this one. She ducked and wove around his own dual blades as one got stuck in the tree and the other swung fruitlessly in the empty air. 

It had been a while since she’d felt the adrenaline coursing in her body like this. The sweat poured from Bulma’s brow as wave after wave of enemy bore down upon her. The humid jungle air seemed to press in on her lungs as she gasped for breath. The feral grin that split her face portrayed something fiercer than human. 

It had been a long time since she’d exerted herself like this, but there was no time to stop and catch her breath. A group of three enemies converged on her at once, wielding electrified weapons and menacing grins. She took them all out by using their own size against them, grabbing one by the shoulders utilizing his momentum to take down his comrades. 

Bulma sensed a presence behind her and whirled around to face her enemy, daggers dripping with synthesized blood. “Not much of a program,” she said as she straightened up. 

Vegeta kicked the dead enemy between them and locked her in his dark gaze. “Tch. Computer, level two.” 

Together they dispatched the new wave of goons, mirroring each other’s movements and tumbling past each other in perfect sync as their enemies fell at their feet. And once it was over, they stood on opposite end of the clearing, gasping for air and intent on seeing each other to their death. 

Bulma made the first move. She dropped her daggers to run at Vegeta, empty-fisted and angry, but when he caught her wrists and held her at arm’s length, she stopped struggling. She could read in his eyes the emotions he struggled to hide. To her surprise, he let her go. She lunged at him again, but this time he allowed her to crash into him and pound her fists against the armour guarding his chest. “Why did you abandon me?” she sobbed. “How could you cut me out like that?” 

Pain. It was pain in Vegeta’s eyes, and it bubbled to the surface in the tender way he stroked the back of his trembling hand down her tear-soaked cheeks. “I didn’t think you could understand,” he murmured softly. 

“You didn’t care to let me try.” Bulma pulled back from him to look him in the eyes, ugly-crying be damned. “You stopped trusting me.” 

“No,” he whispered roughly. “I didn’t trust myself.” 

Then he grabbed her hair and pulled her head to the side, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck and inhaling her scent like he’d been starved of if half his life. 

She dropped her hands to her sides as her brain short-circuited at the sudden change in the atmosphere. Her hands found their way to his waist as he nipped at her pulse point, ran his teeth along her jaw, and finally captured her mouth in a kiss that betrayed his years of desperation and longing. 

The intensity that she brought to the kiss unmasked her own unfulfilled desires, and in a moment of unbridled passion, she shoved the prince up against the nearest vertical surface and bit his neck in return. 

That was all the encouragement he needed.

===============

As she pulled the straps of her top up over her shoulders, Bulma eyed Vegeta with an impish grin. “I guess some exercise programs are better than others.”

Vegeta regarded her for a moment from his newfound spot atop a twisted piece of metal. “You humans sure know how to make light of a situation.” 

“You never could stand it when I tried to make you laugh,” Bulma said, then imitated his expression with an over-exaggerated seriousness. 

“That’s not true,” Vegeta said quietly. “But you hide behind it. You can never say what you mean.” 

Bulma smiled enigmatically. “That’s part of my charm, babe. I can’t play all my cards for the world to see, you know. But you, on the other hand, keep your cards so close to your chest that I’d say it’s your biggest flaw.” 

“I don’t often have much to say,” Vegeta countered. “I prefer to listen.” 

“Or you’re too afraid to speak your mind,” Bulma teased even though she knew it wasn’t quite true, then sighed wistfully. “We should have done this years ago.” 

“We weren’t ready-” Vegeta began, but Bulma cut him off. 

“I was,” she said with a cheeky lift of an eyebrow. 

“There was too much happening in our lives, and too many responsibilities to care for,” Vegeta continued as though she had not spoken at all. “We could not have committed to each other.” 

“I think you were too afraid,” Bulma replied, but deep down she knew he was right. She startled when she looked up to find him on the ground and stalking toward her. 

“Not anymore,” Vegeta said, his voice low but filled with purpose. 

Bulma watched with alarm as he tore a strip of cloth from his uniform and reached out to do the same to her top. “What are you doing?” she asked in disbelief, stepping back in shock as he rent a piece of fabric from her own clothing and tied the strips together. 

_He can’t possibly be-- No. He’s insane if he thinks-_ Bulma’s thoughts were cut short as Vegeta took one of her hands in his and set about winding the cloth around them. 

“Are you out of your mind?” Bulma asked as she slipped from his grip and nearly tripped backwards over herself as she tried to get away. 

Vegeta’s gaze bore into her own, confusion evident--he knew that she should know what this meant. “We are one,” he said simply, cocking his head ever so slightly in silent bemusement to her reaction. 

Bulma glanced side to side, certain she was in some bad dream. “I know, I was _there_ ,” she said incredulously. 

“Then we must perform the ceremony at once,” Vegeta said, furrowing his brow. To him, it was an obvious progression of events. 

To Bulma, however… 

“I’m not marrying _you_!” she shrieked, wrapping her arms around her middle and shrinking into herself. “I can’t be somebody’s _wife!_ ” 

“You already are,” Vegeta stated, then motioned with the cloth in his hand for her to come closer. 

“That’s a Saiyan custom, and I am _not_ a Saiyan,” Bulma spat. She turned on her heel and purposefully strode toward the door of the holodeck. So much for blowing off steam. 

“For all intents and purposes, _yes,_ you _are_ ,” Vegeta bellowed after her. “You were raised on Vegeta-sei. You swore the oath beside me. Now you would throw all of that away? You would dishonour your prince and your promise?” 

“I was _eleven_!” Bulma screamed back, turning to face him again and glad to see he had stayed put. “Don’t you dare throw the decisions I made when I was a child back in my face. I can’t marry you for more reasons than I can count.” 

“Didn’t seem to stop you earlier,” Vegeta scoffed. He was red in the face--anger, shame, embarrassment? Who knew? Who _cared_? 

“I had a _great_ time, Prince Vegeta,” Bulma said through clenched teeth now. “But it’s just sex. That doesn’t make me your wife.” 

“That’s a human attitude.” 

“Well, you idiot, I _am_ human.” 

“You’re more Saiyan than you realize.” 

“Ha!” Bulma couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped her. “So that means I need to follow all your little traditions?” 

“You pledged your loyalty to our ways.” Vegeta was near admitting defeat, but the pride inside him burned like a pilot light that refused to go out. 

Bulma could read the shame, anger, and heartbreak on his face, but her own turbulent emotions prevented her from going to him. The side that urged her to him almost won out before she squashed it decisively and tucked it away where it could never see the light of day. “Your ways, not mine,” she said quietly, and turned to leave before he could see the tears streaming down her face for the second time that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think of each chapter. There's a lot going on in every single one!


	3. Part Two

Bulma scrubbed her hair, her face, and the dirt beneath her fingernails. And as she stood in front of the foggy mirror after her shower, she couldn’t help but lament the fact that she couldn’t scrub her memory too. Any moment, she expected the lieutenant to appear behind her in the mirror’s reflection, come to convince her to make the “right choice”. 

But she _had_ made the right choice. And she was convinced that what she was about to do next would be the right choice too. She tapped the communicator pinned to her uniform--her Saiyan-issued one, not her ambassadorial one--and paged Commander Son. “I’m ready.” 

_“I’ll see you in the transporter room,”_ the commander acknowledged. 

She’d received a surreptitious transmission in the dead of night which could only have come from the Legacy. Then this morning, she’d been contacted by one of their crew using an old encrypted channel who said he could get her in to see the captain. 

It could be a trap, sure, but it was the only lead she had right now. 

As she stepped up onto the transporter pad, she lifted an eyebrow toward her old friend. “Well, what’re you waiting for?” 

“I just can’t help but think that this is a bad idea,” Goku sighed. 

“You _are_ under orders to do everything I tell you, right?” Bulma asked pointedly. She adjusted the sash on her ceremonial dress, which contained a perfect balance of blue and gold she thought sure to appease the Saiyans on the _Legacy_. 

“You better not come back and haunt me after you die,” Goku returned with equal force. “This is all on you.” 

“It’s fine. I’ve been in contact with a member of their crew.” And before Goku could respond, she commanded him to energize, and she disappeared into a rush of scrambled molecules.

As she rematerialized on board the _Legacy_ , Bulma threw her hands in the air. She was surrounded by large Saiyan men with balls of ki aimed right at her. “I’ve only come to help,” she said. “I’m unarmed. I’m here because of the distress signal.” 

“I’ll take her.” 

The crowd parted to reveal an enormously tall Saiyan who would have towered over even Goku, and who had so much hair that some of it brushed the floor. 

Bulma had to crane her head to take in the entire sight of him. “Are you the one with whom I spoke this morning?” 

“Save the conversation, _Ambassador_.” His domineering tone matched well with the intimidating way he loomed over her. “You will not speak unless spoken to, and one word out of place will see you vapourized where you stand. That clear?” 

Bulma nodded, noting the slight accent in the way the Saiyan spoke. Though her main passions involved her ambassadorial career and her love of all things mechanical, there was an amateur xenoanthropologist inside of her itching to get out and study the effects of isolation on the inhabitants of this generational colony ship. Her thoughts strayed toward all the gruesome ways they might do away with her as she was led down a long, minimalist corridor until the Saiyan stopped abruptly. 

“You will wait in here,” he ordered, opening the door and shoving her inside. 

“Hey!” she yelped, but the door slid shut in her face. The room seemed to close-in around her; it was eerily quiet, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Something felt off. Long moments passed before it re-opened, and she was face to face with the giant once again. She stepped aside to let him in, finally taking in her new surroundings and realizing that this must have been his quarters. 

“To answer your earlier question, I am the one who spoke to you this morning. My name is Raditz.” 

“It is nice to formally meet you, Raditz,” Bulma said, pushing aside her frightened notions and offering her palms face-up in the way of the old Saiyan tradition. 

Raditz merely stared at her. “What are you doing?” 

“I, uh,” Bulma stammered when she realized her stupidity -- of _course_ those traditions would be outdated for these Saiyans. 

“I’m just kidding.” Raditz crossed his wrists and placed his palms face down on Bulma’s. Then his nose twitched like he was trying to get her scent without being too obvious about it, prompting Bulma to turn her head to the side in question. 

“You smell… not like I thought a human would smell. It’s almost…” he leaned in a little closer to get a better sniff. “Saiyan.” 

“Your keen senses serve you well. I grew up on Vegeta-sei.” 

Raditz stepped back quickly in shock. “Pardon?” 

“My father was the human ambassador there. I know everything there is to know about Saiyan culture and history. And I know how difficult it must be for you to have me here, but you seem…” Bulma trailed off as she regarded the peculiar man. “Relaxed. _That_ I wasn’t expecting.” 

“Your power level is minuscule,” Raditz said with a shrug. “And I scanned you. You weren’t lying about being unarmed.” He stared at her a little too long, and Bulma shuddered involuntarily and changed the subject.

“So tell me, Raditz, why am I here?” 

Raditz’s jovial demeanour quickly grew serious, and his brows knit together. “There’s a critical failure in our systems. We knew we would not make it back to Vegeta-sei alive, so we sent a message to the Saiyan High Command. Imagine our surprise when we were greeted by a _human_ vessel.” A shred of the hostility he displayed earlier flickered across his features. “The bridge was in an uproar.” 

“A Starfleet ship, yes,” Bulma acknowledged. “But there are many species aboard. Even Saiyans, as you have seen.” 

Raditz scoffed. “Yes, including one who claims to be our prince. A royal would never lower himself to serve a human captain.” 

“Even fifty years ago, I would have agreed with you wholeheartedly. But things have changed. There’s peace now, and the prince-- _your_ prince--

Raditz spat on the floor at that, but said nothing.

“--Thought it a gesture of goodwill to attend the academy after rumours of dissent began to spread on the subspace frequencies. But Vegeta-sei has been a member of the Federation for decades now, and I daresay at least as long as you’ve been alive.” 

Raditz sniffed, but his lips tugged upward into a lopsided smile. 

“So tell me about this critical failure in your system,” Bulma said, abruptly steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. 

“I like you,” Raditz stated decisively as he stood. “But I don’t think a pretty little ambassador is going to be of any assistance. Your hands have probably not known a day of hard work in their life.” 

“I’ve had my fair share of calluses,” Bulma replied with crossed arms. “And I’ve spent a good deal of time in engineering, too. That’s where I served as an ensign out of the academy.” 

“That’s great and all, but once I tell you what the issue is, how do I know you aren’t going to run back to your ship and let them know all of our weaknesses?” 

“Because we were sent by Saiyan High Command to _help_ you, you oaf.” Bulma had the sense that she could get away with a certain degree of familiarity with the jovial Saiyan, and she was right--she detected a glimpse of a smile before he spoke again.

“I have yet to hear any words directly from the mouths of this ‘Saiyan High Command’,” Raditz continued, acting deliberately obtuse in order to frustrate her. “How do I know you’re not just making it up?” 

“Is it your reactor or your life support systems? Because you were running on impulse when we found you, which leads me to believe that you’re either conserving energy for the life support, or you can’t go to warp.” 

Raditz stared at her for a long moment. “Damn, woman, I will admit you’re good. But if I say anything I’ll be tried for treason. I’m not even supposed to have you here.” 

“Why risk your life for it, then?” 

Raditz looked away. “Because any Saiyan worth their salt would be proud to be seen next to a woman of great skill, and whether I accept him or not, the prince was proud to stand with you when you first made contact with _Legacy_. I knew you’d be useful to us.” 

There were a lot of nuances that, even having been raised in the culture, Bulma had never managed to pick up on. It must be ingrained in their genetic memory, she mused, but if it worked in her favour then she wasn’t going to complain about being left out. “Lucky for you I happen to be a mechanical genius, then.” 

“Lucky indeed,” Raditz said in a peculiar tone that briefly made Bulma second-guess her decision to come aboard. He stood and strode toward the door, leaving Bulma to rushedly follow despite her misgivings.

===============

“Captain Bardock,” Raditz said and bowed respectfully toward the obscured figure seated in the large, austere room.

Bulma had only caught a glimpse, but it looked not unlike the conference room aboard many Starfleet vessels. Only this one was a little worse for wear, showing its age in the scratched and peeling paint as well as the outdated and torn furnishings. 

“Commander, if you don’t explain to me right this instant what a human is doing aboard this vessel, I will personally escort both of you to the nearest airlock.” 

Bulma gulped. She was lucky the captain was being as civil as he was. Everything she knew about pre-Federation Saiyans told her that he’d have shot her where she stood, but the captain seemed to trust Raditz. 

“She says they were sent by the Saiyan High Command to answer the distress signal.” 

“The distress signal _you_ sent, against my wishes?” 

A hesitation-- “Aye, captain.” 

“And why is she _here_?” 

“She can fix the… system issue,” Raditz said, catching himself before revealing the exact source of their distress. 

“Enter. Both of you.” 

Bulma stood up straight. She adjusted her sash again and fixed her hair, waiting for Raditz to enter first. To her surprise, he stepped back and gestured for her to go instead. Remembering his earlier advice, she kept quiet as she entered, intent on simply bowing as Raditz had. 

Captain Bardock was facing away from the door as Bulma stepped into the room, but he spun to face them as Raditz took up his place behind Bulma and to her left, effectively blocking the door and any hope for escape.

Bulma’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she took in the man before her. The angles of his face were familiar, and the resemblance in the hair was downright uncanny. 

“Afraid, ambassador?” The captain asked with a smirk, mistaking her incredulity for fear. 

“N-no, sir,” Bulma stammered, though perhaps she should have been. 

The Saiyan captain looked just like Goku.

===============

“That should about do it,” Bulma said, dusting herself off. “I gotta say, for a century-old vessel, she’s been kept in wonderful shape. The sealant was only just starting to break down. If you let me modify all of your replicators, you should be able to synthesize everything you need to keep the ship running for years to come.”

“That won’t be necessary, I watched you do the first one,” Raditz said with a wry grin that Bulma interpreted to mean, “Like hell I’m letting you at more systems than necessary.” 

She couldn’t fault him, but being allowed to do as much as she had was already proving to be a good stepping stone toward being allowed an official audience with a council of the ship’s officers. She appealed to their pride, which had put her into the good graces of more than a few crew members. She chuckled to herself as she put together the last of the panels. _Simple needs, these Saiyans. Stroke their egos, stroke their…_

“Ambassador,” the captain said. 

Bulma snapped out of her thoughts and faced the captain, who’d entered without her noticing. “Captain,” she replied, dipping into a bow along with Raditz and the other crewmen in the room. 

He barely acknowledged her as he walked slowly around the room, inspecting every connection and panel. Finally, he turned to her and nodded. “You have done good work for us. Join me at my table tonight.” 

“Yes, captain. I would be honoured.” Maybe she could finally ask him the question about his obvious relation who served aboard the _Nimbus,_ however distant or however unlikely. 

“Commander, find the ambassador another dress. It appears hers has taken a beating fixing all the things you... _missed_.” 

Raditz sighed, and Bulma felt bad for him. The captain had done nothing but disparage the friendly Saiyan since she arrived. But she sensed there was more to the story than she was hearing in their interactions. 

Later that evening, Bulma got changed in Raditz’s vacated quarters before opening the door to find him waiting to escort her. The earlier fears she held in his presence had melted away after spending the day with him and learning that his curiosity often got the better of him when, more than once, he forgot himself and got a little too close while she was re-fusing vital wiring. It was an odd juxtaposition from the usual stand-offish nature she’d seen in other Saiyans, especially Vegeta. 

He stood in the hallway and offered his arm, which Bulma took gratefully. “Lead the way,” she murmured. 

The captain presided over his table like a benevolent dictator. He sat at the head with the spread of a king before him, and though he was lean, Bulma had the inkling he ate like this every night. A female Saiyan with short hair sat to his left, and some officers that Bulma met earlier occupied all but one of the other spots at the table. 

Bulma felt Raditz deflate against her. He wasn’t invited this evening. She wasn’t sure whether or not to be concerned at the way his free hand clenched into a fist at his side. 

“Ambassador Bulma Briefs of the _Nimbus_ , sir,” Raditz announced. 

“Thank you, commander,” the captain said and waved him off dismissively. 

Bulma took her seat at the table to the captain’s right, the traditional place for the guest of honour. The table remained quiet, devoid of chatter as she settled in. She glanced around, wondering what the _Nimbus’s_ resident empath would think of the thick tension in the room as the officers were torn between a friendly greeting and appeasing their captain. For a race of warriors, they sure seemed to warm up to newcomers easily--especially having been isolated for so long from the rest of the quadrant without the knowledge that hostilities between Saiyans and humans had long been over. 

Bardock broke the silence by grabbing a giant leg of meat from the offering before him and tearing in, which was the signal for everyone else to begin their feast as well. 

Bulma knew she had to be quick if she wanted to get anything into her belly, but she’d had enough practice on Vegeta-sei for a lifetime with the brutish Saiyan race. 

Once the first course was finished, Bardock wiped his maw with a sensible cloth napkin and turned his attention back toward Bulma. “Ambassador, we have reached a decision. My officers and I have decided we will--” 

“Hey!” a crewman shouted in the hall, interrupting the announcement. 

All eyes were trained on the doorway as it whooshed open, revealing a very angry Saiyan prince with two downed Saiyans at his feet and glowing balls of ki in his palms.

===============

“I don’t _care_ if it’s your royal right, your highness, you almost got us both killed in there!” Bulma yelled as they rematerialized on the _Nimbus_.

“If you hadn’t joined in a phaser fight when you were _unarmed_ , you wouldn’t have been shot at,” Vegeta retorted. “I knew you were careless but I did not think you to be a fool. Going there alone, what were you thinking?” 

“I spent _all fucking day_ there and gained _a measure_ of their trust. Which you just destroyed, by the way. Now they think it was just a ploy to get you on board without them noticing. Well, guess what? They noticed!” Bulma screeched. 

“Do you really think they would have allowed you to befriend them? They used you. Like a tool. And-- fuck’s sake, Bulma, you’ve been hit.” 

Bulma followed Vegeta’s gaze to her side, where she was surprised to find a growing red stain. “Shit.” 

Vegeta slapped the communicator on his uniform. “Medical emergency, transporter room three.” 

“Don’t think this will let you off the hook,” Bulma said angrily as a small team beamed in and loaded her onto a stretcher. One of them gave her a sedative, and she glared at Vegeta until she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

Later that evening, as she recovered in sick bay, Bulma awoke to find Chichi standing next to her bed and Vegeta leaning against a wall off to the side. They were engaged in whispered conversation and didn’t notice at first that she was awake. 

“Chichi?” Bulma murmured. 

Vegeta glanced at Bulma with an unreadable expression and left without a word. 

“Bad dreams, hon?” Chichi asked sympathetically once Vegeta had taken his leave. 

“Was I talking in my sleep again?” Bulma asked.  
“No, but I felt you could use someone here when you woke up. Looks like the lieutenant had the same idea.” 

“He seemed in a hurry to leave,” Bulma scoffed and rolled her eyes. She sat up on the edge of the bed and checked the site of the wound: healed, with no scarring to be found. Dr. Korin had done an excellent patch job. 

Chichi leaned in close like she was about to divulge a secret. “He doesn’t know how to handle his emotions. I notice a flare-up of passion whenever you’re around.” 

“Lust or rage?” Bulma asked with a cheeky grin. 

Chichi grinned back. “Maybe both. But he has softer feelings for you too.” 

The smile fell from Bulma’s face, and she looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure I’m ready for those.” 

Chichi shrugged. “I know how you feel. Saiyan hearts are hard to tame.” 

“Impossible, actually,” Bulma corrected. “I’ve known enough of them in my lifetime to know you can’t tie them down and bend them to your wishes.” 

“I’d say we humans are much the same way, wouldn’t you agree?” 

“You’re only half-human,” Bulma said wryly. “I saw your personnel file.” 

Chichi shrugged. “My human side is still very strong. But Bulma,” she said, tone suddenly sober. “You were distressed while you slept. I felt you all the way from the bridge. What has you so upset?” 

Bulma shook her head and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know what dream I was having. I don’t remember. I do have this sense that something is… wrong, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.” 

“Well, you can always come to my office if there’s something you need to talk about. My door’s always open.”

===============

Bulma sat near the window in the mess hall absentmindedly stirring her tea. She stared out into the vast expanse of space and stars and thought back to when she used to stand on her balcony in West City, gazing at the night sky. The constellations were different from this vantage, but her sense of awe had only deepened the further away from Earth they travelled.

She saw Vegeta’s reflection before she heard him clear his throat roughly to announce his presence.

“May I join you?” Vegeta asked as Bulma turned. He held a mug of tea, prepared the same way she had hers. It was one of those little comforts they’d always shared in their academy days to remind them of home. 

Bulma turned back toward the window wordlessly. The asshole had effectively ruined her mission, and she didn’t want to speak to him right now. Or ever. 

Vegeta took her cold shoulder as his cue to sit down. 

“Don’t let me interrupt your deep thoughts, Ambassador.” 

“I’m mad at you,” Bulma replied, lip jutting out in an angry pout as she continued staring out the window. “You were an idiot and endangered not only my mission, but my life. And yours as well. I’m going to request that the captain assign Goku as my liason instead.” She hadn’t yet brought it to Vegeta’s--or anyone’s--attention that the _Legacy’s_ captain closely resembled her friend. 

“So be it,” Vegeta sniffed. “I’m sure they’ll take _much_ more kindly to a low-class Saiyan.” 

“You harbour animosity toward the commander?” Bulma asked, lifting an eyebrow as she deigned to look at him from the corner of her eye, lip curled. “Tell me, what has the unshakeable prince’s feathers so ruffled?” 

Vegeta crossed his arms and remained silent. 

“Are you upset you were passed over for a promotion when both of you were up for it?” 

“Tch, that is none of your concern.” Vegeta looked away, and Bulma knew she’d hit it right on the nose. 

She sneered and turned back toward the window, watching the _Legacy_ off in the distance--about two hundred kilometers off the port bow. “Why haven’t they left yet?” she murmured to herself.

Vegeta followed her gaze and shrugged. “What does it matter? They’re probably still getting their sorry asses organized.” 

Bulma furrowed her brow and concentrated harder on the distant vessel, trying to put together the bits of information that floated around untethered in her brain. Something wasn’t quite right--but what? 

Then she recalled the eerie quiet she felt in Raditz’s quarters. Oh. _Oh._ “Their engines,” she breathed, so quiet that Vegeta had to ask her to repeat herself. She turned toward him, wide-eyed. “It wasn’t just the life support systems that were malfunctioning. I guessed it was either that or their engines--but it’s both. I couldn’t feel any engine vibrations while I was on board. They haven’t left because they can’t go anywhere.” 

Vegeta narrowed his eyes in confusion. “One would think a vessel as old as the _Legacy_ and with such a varied crew would have the expertise necessary to repair both its engines and its life support system. Apparently the quality of their pedigree has degraded over the past few generations.” 

Bulma tapped her chin. She _did_ find it odd, in fact, that the Saiyans’ chief engineer hadn’t been able to fix the issue with the parts at hand like she had. There had to be something more to it, something she didn’t have a chance to hear because her visit was unceremoniously cut short. “I have to contact Raditz somehow, get back over there. There’s something else going on.” 

“Foolish woman,” Vegeta snapped. “Don’t you realize you have lost their trust now and forever?” 

“No, Vegeta, _you_ lost their trust,” Bulma replied bitterly, turning toward him with such ferocity in her eyes that Vegeta momentarily deflated at her sharp words.

“I almost got you killed,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I did not trust them not to kill you where you stood, but I will admit should have trusted _you_. You knew what you were doing, and now that you and I are--” 

_“Lieutenant Vegeta, report to the bridge.”_

To Bulma’s relief, the page came before he said what she feared he’d say. He apparently hadn’t dropped this notion that they were somehow bound to each other now. 

The echo of unsaid words hung in the air between them, drawing the tension tight as wire. 

“On my way,” Vegeta replied, watching her out of the corner of his eye with something akin to longing. He hesitated to return to duty, unsure if she would follow.

But she did, hot on his heels as he finally turned and strode toward the turbolift. 

Once they arrived at the bridge, Bulma noted that the captain and the other senior officers were crowded around the crewman at the comm station. 

“Lieutenant, do you recognize this?” Captain Roshi asked, turning toward the new arrivals as they joined the small crowd.

The crewman played a message in a language Bulma had never heard before. It sounded faint and garbled, like it had been sent on a different frequency and bled over to this one. The high-pitched intonations sounded condescending even to her inexperienced ear. 

Vegeta listened intently and shook his head. “I’ve never encountered anything like it. Cross-check it to Vegeta-sei’s database.” 

“We have,” the crewman said. “No dice.” 

“It almost sounds automated,” Goku said, scratching the back of his neck in his tell-tale gesture of complete and utter confusion. “But it only came through once.” 

“Do you think the _Legacy_ heard it, too?” Bulma mused. “Maybe they know what it is.” 

“I don’t know, Ambassador, would you like to beam over there and ask them?” Vegeta asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“Lieutenant,” the captain warned before turning back toward Bulma. “Do you think it wise to attempt to hail them?” 

“Worst they can do is ignore us,” Bulma said with a shrug.

===============

That evening in her quarters, Bulma huddled over her monitor, a steaming mug of hot chocolate rapidly cooling next to her. Frustrated by the Saiyans’ lack of response, she had been trying frequency after frequency in an attempt to get a hold of Raditz again. Maybe _he’d_ listen. Maybe he knew the source of the transmission.

There was nothing but radio silence for several long hours, but when she’d finally given up and climbed into bed, her comm station pinged with an incoming transmission. She pulled her robe around herself and padded back over to the console to bring up the viewscreen. 

The figure on the other end was shrouded in darkness. Their shadow moved almost imperceptibly across the screen, and when they spoke, their voice was heavily modulated. “Ambassador. You are trying to contact the commander regarding the transmission you received earlier, are you not?” 

“I’m afraid I’m not in a position to divulge information about the communications sent to the _Nimbus_ ,” she said, though her intention was exactly that. Her hand flew across the control pad as she traced the transmission. To her surprise, it didn’t originate from the general location of Raditz’s quarters, but from a forward compartment of the Saiyan vessel. 

“There is more at stake here than you realize, Ambassador.” 

“If I hail your captain, will he speak to me?” Bulma asked. “He seemed intent on ignoring us earlier.” 

“He’s not in the mood for a chat, and I can’t speak for much longer either.” 

Bulma rolled her eyes. It was almost definitely Raditz on the other end, but she wasn’t going to call him out when anybody could be listening in. “I fixed your life support systems. I can fix your engines too. Just give me another chance.” 

“It’s not mine to give,” the shadowy figure replied. “Hail this frequency if you receive another transmission. Your vessel could be in grave danger.” 

Before Bulma could reply, the screen went dark, and she was left staring at her own reflection, head swirling with questions that had no answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :o


	4. Part Three

“I reject your proposal,” Bardock said with his arms crossed defiantly. He stared intently at Bulma, like he was trying to read her thoughts through the view screen. 

“We’re just trying to help you, captain,” Bulma sighed, both hands cradling her forehead in exasperation. “At least until another Saiyan vessel can take our place. We’re all they’ve got in this sector until then.” 

“Any ship who approaches us will be fired upon.” 

Bulma looked up sharply. “Even if they’re your own people?” 

Bardock looked away and sniffed. “We have decided we no longer want anything to do with them. Please leave immediately.” 

He had to be bluffing. “No.” Bulma shook her head. “We will remain here with you until they arrive. We’re not going anywhere, captain.” 

Bardock scowled and made a gesture to an off-screen crewman, and the feed went blank. 

The captain turned to Bulma, hands behind his back and face pained. “Looks like we’ll be here for a while, since Saiyan High Command just informed us that their main fleet has been diverted to a crisis in the Namekian system and that a diplomatic ship will take weeks to arrive from Vegeta-sei.” 

It looked like Vegeta would have to suffer the ambassador for a while yet.

===============

“What do you think is happening in the Namekian system?” Bulma asked, stirring cream into Goku’s coffee before handing it to him. “I’ve received no word from the embassy on Namek Prime.”

“They didn’t give any further details, and the message was heavily encrypted,” Goku replied with an apologetic shrug before taking a sip. “The captain said he received the subspace transmission early this morning.” 

“I guess we’ll find out more when we get back.” 

They sipped their drinks in silence for a little while, comfortable in resuming their friendship where it left off the last time they saw each other. Bulma briefly considered telling Goku about Captain Bardock and their uncanny resemblance, but decided that now was not the time to open that can of worms. “So, should I expect a plus-one for you when you come ‘round for dinner next?” she asked instead. 

Goku stared at her for a long moment as a slight blush tinted his cheeks.

“So tell me, who _is_ this great tamer of the mighty Saiyan Goku?” 

The mighty Saiyan Goku coughed on his latest sip of coffee and took a moment to regain his bearings once his fit was over. “There’s no _taming_ going on,” he mumbled, but then turned his sharp gaze to her. “But I wouldn’t say the same for you and the lieutenant. You’re awfully close for two people who claim to dislike each other so much.” 

“What can I say, we’ve known each other since we were children,” Bulma said with a wry smile into her mug.

Goku leaned forward, placing his drink on a coaster and clasping his hands together. “I might not know much about my culture or heritage, Bulma, but I know what a man looks like when he’s in love. And Lieutenant Vegeta has it _bad_. He can barely function when you two are in the same room.” 

“Well, he’s delusional if he thinks we can be together,” she said. “One of us would have to give up our career, and it just wouldn’t… work. He told me a long time ago that his birthright as the Prince of all Saiyans has to come first. And I intend to take my father’s place as ambassador on Vegeta-sei. If this mission turns out well, he’s promised to step down and appoint me in his place. It’s my dream, Goku, and I can’t give it up for him. Even if he is royalty.” 

“Well, you know you can always talk to me. I can be your man on the inside,” Goku joked. “Maybe I’ll find his personal logs and send them your way.” 

Bulma smiled at the thought of that, then deepened her voice in a crude imitation of Vegeta’s. “Tactical officer’s log, supplemental. Today the infernal woman ignored yet another offer of the prestige and wealth that comes with joining the House of Vegeta. I do not understand how she could turn down such a handsome man as myself. Further investigation required.” 

She continued on, making fun of his grumpy attitude and stiff demeanor, and by the time she was done, Goku was in stitches. 

Then the door chimed, and Goku straightened up in a sad attempt at decorum. 

“Come in,” Bulma said, barely able to contain her giggling. “Oh, speak of the devil,” she muttered so only Goku could hear--and the latter had to clench his jaw to avoid another fit of giggles. 

Lieutenant Vegeta stood at the doorway, one foot awkwardly placed just past the threshold. “Apologies, I didn’t realize I was interrupting--” 

“No, no, please come in,” Bulma repeated. “The commander was just telling me a story about an away team mishap.” She smiled innocently up at the lieutenant, whose cheeks reddened, and the commander followed suit with his own cheeky grin. 

“I’ll come back,” Vegeta replied, stepping backwards and letting the door _whoosh_ to a close after him. 

Goku and Bulma exchanged looks, and the former took to his feet. “I’ll let him know I was just leaving.” 

“Goku, don’t you da-” Bulma tried, but Goku was already at the door. He turned back to wink at Bulma and mouth, _good luck_ before he disappeared into the hallway. 

Vegeta stepped through in his place, glancing back in confusion with his brows knit. Turning back to Bulma, he cleared his throat. “I wanted to know if you would like to have dinner with me.”

===============

“Well Vegeta, it’s been a nice evening, but I think I’m ready for bed,” Bulma said while dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. They had managed to get through their entire meal without starting an argument for once. But she could feel her patience with him thinning, so she slid her chair back to stand.

“Weren’t you always a night owl?” Vegeta asked, tilting his head. “Unless you are trying to avoid me.” He looked around the hall at the other couples and groups, all of whom were engrossed in their own conversations. 

Bulma pulled her lips together in a tight smile. “A lot of things change in seven years.” 

“If you don’t want to spend time with me, you can say so,” Vegeta said, careful to keep his tone even. “I will respect your wishes.” 

Bulma looked down at her hands before collecting herself and facing him like the mature adult she was. “I’m going to be here longer than expected. Whether you like it or not, we need to keep things professional.” 

A muscle in Vegeta’s cheek twitched like he was biting his tongue. “As you desire, ambassador. I did plan to end the evening in the holodeck with a concert, if you’d care to join me. Professionally, of course.” 

“I wasn’t lying when I said I was going to bed, lieutenant.” 

“Have it your way.” 

Hours later, despite her best intentions, Bulma simply could not fall asleep. She tossed and turned for what felt like an eternity, and finally, while staring at the bland grey ceiling, she summoned the computer with a sigh. “Where is Lieutenant Vegeta?” 

_“Lieutenant Vegeta is in his quarters,”_ the computer replied. 

“Ambassador Briefs to Lieutenant Vegeta,” Bulma mumbled into her comm badge. 

_“Go ahead,”_ he responded almost immediately. 

Bulma pondered for a moment. “I can’t sleep. Is your invitation still open?” 

_“I can meet you at holodeck two in five minutes.”_

Now to see where the night was going to lead them.

===============

“I don’t think I should,” Bulma said, declining the third glass of wine offered her that evening. She sat across from Vegeta at a table for two in a little cabaret that housed a small crowd. In the corner, a jazz quartet crooned a melody over the din of conversation.

“It’s holographic,” Vegeta pointed out. “It’s not like I’m trying to get you drunk.” 

“Ever the gentleman.” 

Vegeta’s expression bordered on forlorn at the sarcasm in her tone. “You know it would be dishonourable--” 

“Yes, yes, you Saiyans and your honour. You can relax, Vegeta.” She leaned forward with a wicked grin. “I know you’re not going to try to get into my pants again.” 

A furious blush rose to his cheeks, and he coughed into his wine glass. “Bulma,” he said, voice cracking and missing its usual fire. Instead, it was filled with that same yearning she’d noticed in him ever since… well. 

Ever since their last days together in the academy. 

And that yearning had increased ever since the _last_ time they shared a _moment_ on the holodeck. 

Bulma knew she was toeing a delicate line. She’d been given a glimpse into the real Vegeta: the one who hid behind a facade, whose mask had cracked and allowed her to see a part of him never intended for the light of day. Back then, when they’d gone to her dorm just to talk, when hands and lips had wandered… that glimpse had given her the boldness to do what she’d been wanting to do for _years_. 

But in a great feat of willpower, he’d shot her down and claimed “duty” and “responsibility”. 

And that wound had never fully healed. So when he looked at her now, the desire--the _longing_ in his eyes for the very thing he denied until recently--felt like a stab wound right in the heart. 

And Bulma ate it up.

===============

“Computer, set program… Briefs 7,” Bulma murmured.

The cabaret dissolved and was replaced by a secluded beach. 

They held each other close, still dancing even though the music had faded. The thunderous waves crashed to shore in its stead, and the setting sun with its brilliant hues replaced the dim ambient lighting of the cabaret. 

Vegeta’s hand slid up Bulma’s back to rub between her shoulder blades before he suddenly pulled her into an embrace. “Bulma, I almost lost you on that ship. You were right, I endangered your life when I should have trusted you. I’m going to have to learn to trust your abilities if we are to--”

Bulma put her finger over his lips to cut him off. “I’m glad you learned how to dance,” she whispered, not wanting to acknowledge his… his _fantasy_ about their relationship status and changing the subject. 

Vegeta wordlessly stepped away to twirl her before bringing her back in close to him. His face was set in a thoughtful expression, and the intensity of his dark gaze transfixed her. It felt like he was melting away the hard layers that surrounded her heart. “Stay with me tonight,” he said. It was not a demand, but a request. His voice was rough, deep with desire, but also heavy with the promise that tonight, they wouldn’t be alone. 

She was lost in the oceans of his eyes, but for once she didn’t feel like she was drowning. Like the moon drawing the tides, the force of his attraction held her in its gentle grip. “Alright,” she breathed, letting go of her resistance.

He ordered the computer to lay out a blanket in the sand. Their formalwear had already been replaced by setting-appropriate attire, and her sheer, white cover-up floated like haze around her body as she sank to her knees. 

“It’s been years since I slept under the stars,” she remarked as Vegeta settled in beside her, laying on his side with his head propped up by his hand. She laid on her back when he beckoned her to join him, her heart racing. 

Vegeta reached out and stroked the back of his fingers tenderly down the delicate line of her cheek. “Have you ever made love beneath them?” he asked, gaze resting on her lips and watching with rapt attention as her tongue flicked out to lick them in her nervousness. 

Nervous because if she went through with this, it would become more than _just sex_. This was agreeing to devoting her life to someone else, to putting someone else’s needs ahead of her own. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. “Can’t say that I have,” she replied, a breathy chuckle escaping her as she tried to quell the ardour that felt like a floodtide sweeping her heart out to sea. If she listened to her heart, she’d end this night a married woman. In Vegeta’s mind, she already was. With his next question came the make-or-break moment of the evening:

“Would you like to?”

===============

The sleep that had eluded Bulma earlier now overtook her with blissful swiftness, pulling her into a slumber where she could forget what it meant to experience your heart breaking all over again. She dreamt of their time on Vegeta-sei, when they were young and carefree. They played in a meadow, the vibrant orange flowers swaying in the breeze as they ran through, holding hands. They let go for a brief moment and when she looked up, a vast distance separated them. She called out, but he was so far away he couldn’t hear. She curled up into a ball in the grass and cried because she was all alone.

 _“Incoming transmission.”_

Bulma’s eyes snapped open and she tried to remember why there were tears streaming down her face. She was alone in her bed. 

_“Priority, urgent.”_ The computer beeped at her until she replied. 

“Ugh, onscreen,” Bulma muttered at the computer as she rolled over. Her heart raced and her anxiety levels hit a peak, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why. “Remind me to set you to do not disturb mode next time I go to sleep.” 

_“Reminder set,”_ the computer chimed helpfully as the dark figure appeared on Bulma’s view screen. 

“I hope you have a good reason for waking me up,” Bulma grumbled. She went through the motions of tracing the transmission, but this time it originated from the stern of the _Legacy_. 

“Have you received further transmissions?” the dark figure asked, voice modulated like last time. 

Bulma stared at her screen for a long, annoyed moment. “No, asshole, we haven’t. If you’re monitoring the same frequencies, you’d know that. Can I get back to sleep now?” 

“Apply this filter to the static-filled messaged you’ve been receiving. I think you’ll find it helpful.” 

The parameters showed up on Bulma’s console, and the screen went black. She sighed, rubbing her eyes and returning to her bed. Then she remembered last night on the holodeck, when she’d made the hardest decision of her life. Had it been worth it?

===============

The next morning, Bulma clasped her hands with worry as the captain paused. A new transmission from Starfleet command had come in about the Namekian Crisis. As it turned out, they’d been attacked by an unidentified probe which destroyed three of their colonies and disappeared without so much as a warp trail to follow.

“Evacuations are underway for all remaining bases, and Namek Prime remains on high alert,” Roshi said. 

“How many casualties?” Goku asked quietly. “Do we know anything of Lieutenant Piccolo’s family?” 

“Casualties number in the thousands right now. All Starfleet vessels in that sector were rerouted to assist in relief efforts and are on standby in case the probe returns.” 

“ _Captain_ ,” a voice interrupted over the comm. 

“Go ahead, ensign,” Roshi said. 

“Another unidentified transmission has come in. We think we’re getting close to cracking this thing.” 

“Understood, I’m on my way.” Turning back to the officers around the table, he sighed. “Starfleet has asked us to keep this information on a need-to-know basis. Please refrain from discussing this matter in common areas.” 

Bulma glanced across the conference table to find Vegeta watching her, but he quickly looked away as he stood to follow his captain to the bridge.

===============

“Captain, could you have a copy of that transmission sent to my quarters? I’d like to take a stab at it,” Bulma said after Roshi put his communications officer back on the task of figuring out its source and language.

Roshi glanced at Goku, who nodded. 

“More minds on the matter can’t hurt, can they Captain?” 

“I agree. Please inform me the second you find anything.” 

Once she was back in her quarters, Bulma applied to the recording the filter she’d received from her mysterious friend. The results were immediate. The condescending voice now came through crystal clear, but Bulma still couldn’t understand what it was saying. After a few hours and no luck deciphering anything, even with modifications to her own universal translator, she sighed and paged the communications officer.

===============

The days turned into weeks as the Namekian crisis unfolded lightyears away. Starfleet commanded the _Nimbus_ to stay put, but the upper brass communicated with Roshi daily, who passed on word of the goings-on to the officers and Bulma each morning.

And Bulma _finally_ received word from the embassy on Namek--they had stuck around in order to help the Namekians flee, but now they were forced to evacuate as well when reports of another probe sighting became widespread. She sighed as the transmission ended, rubbing the bridge of her nose to ease the ever-growing headache she had been experiencing day in and day out. Between the embassy news, the ever-stubborn nature of the _Legacy_ ’s Saiyans, and Vegeta practically breathing down her neck about their “future”, she was beginning to wonder when a girl could get a break. That wasn’t even to mention that her shadowy friend had been tight-lipped as of late. She hadn’t received a midnight transmission from him in at least a week and a half, and while her sleep schedule had improved because of it, it made her nervous. 

Then, one evening as Bulma slaved over the attempted translation of yet another unidentified transmission, her comm crackled to life. 

“I was beginning to miss you,” she called over her shoulder at the comm station as she compared her notes from before. When she turned around, she was startled to see Raditz onscreen. His lip was swollen and bloody, and there was a split on his left eyebrow that still oozed blood. His right eye sported a beautiful shiner. “Commander!” Bulma cried, stumbling as she ran over to her comm station, gripping it as though she could reach him somehow. “What happened to you?” 

Raditz grinned in spite of himself. “Ambassador,” he greeted. “I got caught the last time we talked. Turns out a more senior officer switched shifts with one of the junior bridge officers for the evening that night and discovered my garbled signal.” 

“So they beat you up?” Bulma asked, horrified. She couldn’t believe that the Saiyan actually looked _pleased_ with himself. 

“Yeah, I got lazy,” he said and shrugged. “They threw me in the brig for a couple of days, too.” 

Bulma shook her head. “I figured it was you all along, but why obscure your face and voice like that?” 

“Eh, plausible deniability,” he laughed. “I knew it wouldn’t really matter in the end, but I like the drama.” 

“So now you’re transmitting your face after they caught you once and are probably surveilling you heavily?”

“If nothing else, I am one tenacious motherfucker,” Raditz said, baring his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Plus, I’m pretty sure dad secretly agrees with what I’m doing, but can’t publicly support me in front of the crew. Tensions are high, and there’s been talk of mounting a raid against your ship.” 

“Wait, who’s ‘dad?’” Bulma asked with a tilt of her head.

“Oh yeah, I guess I never told you. Captain Bardock is my father.” 

Bulma nearly fell over, she pushed back against the desk so hard. When she next spoke, her voice was high-pitched with exasperation. “Don’t you think you might have _mentioned_ that at some point?” 

“I kinda thought it was obvious, to be honest,” Raditz said. “But yeah, it’s why I’m confined to quarters now and not left to rot in the brig. And probably why he didn’t have my transmission equipment confiscated.” 

“Okay, and you mentioned raids against our ship? Are they _mindless_? They’d never succeed.” 

“You can’t tell a Saiyan no once he’s got his mind set on something.” 

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Ugh, tell me about it. I’m having enough Saiyan troubles on this ship, I don’t need it from yours, too.” 

“‘Fraid there’s not much I can do about it, sweetheart,” Raditz laughed. “Being confined to quarters ‘n’ all. Means I don’t really get to communicate with anybody on board, and I’m bored out of my goddamn mind. So,” he said, resting his cheek on his palm. “Tell me about your Saiyan troubles.” 

Had… had he initiated contact just to _chat_? Bulma wondered. It was the middle of the night and she only had a million and one things to take care of, but she decided a diversion would be acceptable. “I wouldn’t want to speak ill of the Saiyan prince in front of his own,” she said with a snort. “But can I just say that your traditions can get a little out of hand sometimes?” 

Raditz shrugged and waited for her to continue. 

“I’ve known him since I was a little girl. My father was the first human ambassador to reside on Vegeta-sei, so we were close to the royal family when I was growing up.” 

“Oh, has he always had that stick up his ass?” Raditz asked, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. 

Bulma snickered. “More or less, but it was endearing for a while. Until we went to the academy together, and he turned into a total…” Bulma trailed off, looking for the epithet that carried the most weight. She decided to allow Raditz to infer. 

“Insufferable jackass?” he offered. 

“That’s the nice way of putting it,” Bulma replied. “We went our separate ways, and I thought we’d never be friends again until _surprise_ , I was assigned to his ship for this mission. We fought at first but then… well.” Bulma shut her mouth, not one to kiss and tell. It was no business of Raditz’s that the prince was trying to make her his wife. 

“If it’s any consolation, at least _this_ Saiyan is glad you’re here,” Raditz said, smooth as you please. 

Bulma raised an eyebrow. “You’re different from all of them, aren’t you? Why are you even talking to me? Don’t you all hate humans?” 

“You’ve proven not to be so bad. Besides, there’s a reason we… well, _I_ sent that signal to you.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t tell you. That’s up to the captain, and I’d rather not add ‘treason’ to my ever-growing list of shortcomings by divulging all of our secrets.” 

“I thought you already have. I’m sure your loving father will forgive you,” Bulma replied, lifting an eyebrow. Everything she knew about Captain Bardock said that he was a man who protected his interests and that of his crew. He showed leniency in confining Raditz to quarters, but she knew that Raditz was right and that they should play it safe for now.

“The man doesn’t know a damn thing about forgiveness. He still hasn’t forgiven me for what happened to my little brother. And I was a child at the time.” 

He said it with a flat tone, but Bulma could see the sadness in Raditz’s eyes despite the slight blur in the image on screen. “What happened?” she asked quietly, mind reeling. If Bardock were his father, and Goku looked like Bardock, could he be talking about…? 

“He’s gone because of me. We were only kids, but it was my fault, and my father has held it against me to this day. We were playing near the pods, and he climbed into one. We were pretending to go on a deep-space mission, and I launched the pod with him in it by accident. It was set to… to home. To Vegeta-sei. It was designed to be faster than our ship, and ol’ daddy didn’t learn about it until my mother found me crying in the corridor.” 

Bulma sat back in her chair, stunned. Nobody knew where Goku had come from. He was just a child when he was found, crashed at a human colony with a broken navigational computer and no memory of where he’d come from. Now it was obvious. She stood abruptly. “I’m sorry, Raditz, I have to go. Contact me again tomorrow night, but I have something very important I need to discuss with our first officer.” Without another word, she cut off the transmission. If Goku was Bardock’s son, that would make him Raditz’s brother. She had to tell Goku that these Saiyans were his long-lost family. 

That revelation added a whole new layer of complication to this convoluted mess.


	5. Part Four

“Sorry I’m late,” Bulma huffed, out of breath as she settled into the only open seat left--next to Vegeta. It was plain to see that she was not feeling well. 

Vegeta moved imperceptibly closer as she took her seat, shifting uncomfortably and rubbing at his face.

The captain graciously allowed her to get set up before continuing with an update on the Namekian Crisis. Upon discovering that the Namekians had received a strange transmission before the probe attacked, Roshi had requested access to their logs for review in exchange for sending copies of the recordings the communications officer had made of their own interceptions.

===============

Bulma sipped her ginger tea as she listened to both transmissions again. The transmission to Namek was definitely in the same language as the ones _Nimbus_ had been receiving. She wished Raditz would tell her how the _Legacy_ was involved. But she didn’t want to speak with Raditz right now. It’d been three days since she’d abruptly cut off their transmission to talk to Goku.

Goku, who’d gone wide-eyed and quiet at the revelation, had only asked if Captain Bardock knew. He looked like his whole world had just come crashing down on him and retreated to his quarters to think. 

Now, as Bulma contemplated if and how she should tell Raditz that his brother was safe after all, a chime sounded to indicate somebody was at the door. She sighed. If she stood, another wave of nausea would overtake her, and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stave this one off. “Who is it?” she called. 

Of course it had to be Vegeta. 

Just the person she _didn’t_ want to see right now. 

“Come in,” she said begrudgingly. 

“You look terrible,” he said when he saw her. “Why haven’t you been to sick bay?” 

She flipped him off and turned back to her console. He was right. She hadn’t showered in two days, and the dark circles under her eyes were something else--but sick bay was the last place she wanted to be right now, so close to discovering who the Namekians’ mystery attackers were. 

“The captain wants to know if you have any news from the _Legacy_.” 

“Don’t know why he can’t ask me himself,” Bulma said, taking another sip of tea and scribbling notes on her padd. Her stomach flip-flopped and she let out a low groan.

“I’m your assigned liaison, for one,” Vegeta said, ignoring her distress. Bulma could practically see the sarcastic eyebrow raise he was no doubt giving her. “And second, no one has seen you for the last two days.” 

“I’m sick. You might want to keep your distance.” 

“And you might want to get to sick bay,” he repeated. “There’s no reason to live like this.” 

Bulma looked up at him with a frown. “Can’t a girl suffer in peace?” 

“Like it or not, ambassador, I have a job to do. Suffering or no, answer the question. Do you have any news from the _Legacy_ or not?” 

Bulma debated telling the lieutenant about Goku’s family history, but it wasn’t hers to tell. So far, only the captain knew, and even he wasn’t sure how to proceed with that information. Surely it would be a valuable bargaining chip for their mostly-non-existent negotiations, but that would involve telling them first. “Nothing that concerns your assignment,” she finally said, turning her back again and effectively dismissing him. 

But Vegeta stayed put. “You’re working yourself sick. While some might admire your work ethic, you should take a break. I’d like you to complete your mission sooner than later, and you’ll be needlessly delayed if you are ill.” 

Bulma sighed. Why wouldn’t he just _leave_? She turned back to him, arms crossed. “And do what? Get everyone else sick in the mess hall? Not likely. Go to sick bay? Some relaxation _that_ is.” 

“You could join me on the holodeck,” Vegeta said. 

Bulma couldn’t contain her scornful laughter. “Fat chance,” she said. He still hadn’t let up with his bonding ceremony nonsense. She had to give him credit; if nothing else, he certainly was persistent. She wished he weren’t.

===============

The task force assigned to the translation made a breakthrough that very afternoon. One of the officers, an acquaintance from Bulma’s academy days named Yamcha, had the idea to check an old database not in regular use by Starfleet.

“See,” he said, pointing at a starmap that had to be at least seventy-five years old, it was so incomplete. “This sector of the quadrant here, it’s called the ‘Frigid Zone’ in most old star maps, but it’s never been charted by any Federation ships. It’s said to be inhabited by a race of reptilian humanoids known as _Ice-jin_. We don’t know much about them, but a passing freighter once had the misfortune of intercepting one of their probes. We discovered the wreckage of that ship—along with its black box—six years after it went missing. They’re brutal.”

“I want you to cross-reference the information that Federation has on the Frigid Zone with the Saiyan database,” Vegeta told Yamcha, and was met with an enthusiastic _Yes, sir!_. 

It took only three more hours for results. 

“Sir, we have the translation.” Yamcha sat back as he allowed the universal translator to take over the recording.

===============

“Come in,” Goku said. He sounded tired.

The doors to his quarters slid open and Bulma surveyed the room before she stepped in, surprised to see the ship’s counsellor sitting at the small dining table with the commander. She was feeling better this evening and had managed to eat something small earlier that day.

“Counsellor Chichi,” Bulma greeted. “I hope I’m not interrupting a session…” 

“Not at all. Please, come sit,” Chichi said, relinquishing her own seat. “Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?” 

“Uh, ginger tea, please.” As she approached, Bulma wondered why Chichi was offering hospitality in Goku’s quarters, but the question vanished from her mind when she saw Goku’s expression as he stared down at his half-eaten dinner. He still hadn’t fully processed the information about his heritage, and now this news about the impending threat of attack weighed on his mind, too. 

“I want to meet my brother,” Goku said quietly. “I have so many questions.” 

“You must. I do, too, but I haven’t worked up the courage to speak with Raditz about anything yet.” 

“Since you owe me a favour, I was thinking you could have him speak to me directly. I’d like to be the one to tell him.” 

Bulma nodded. She was sure Raditz would agree to that, at least, especially in light of the _Nimbus_ crew’s newfound knowledge regarding the source of the mysterious transmissions. She made to stand, but Goku and Chichi shared a look and she paused, waiting for them to speak. 

“That can wait, why don’t you stay for dinner?” Chichi suggested. 

Something clicked in Bulma’s tired brain. “Wait,” she said, looking between them and raising a finger. “Are you two…? No way. No _way_. Why didn’t you _say_ something?” 

“Goku,” Chichi said, addressing him with her hands on her hips. “Did you not tell her?” 

“You’re not the only one who can keep a secret,” Goku said to Bulma, eyeing her with a pointed look. Then he broke into a wide grin despite himself. “But, cat’s out of the bag now. Bulma, I’d like to introduce you to my wife, Chichi.” 

“Wait, when did you get _married_?” Bulma shrieked, throwing her hands in the air and looking around the room at her imaginary audience in disbelief. Did their friendship mean nothing to him? How could he have not told her? 

Chichi laughed at her theatrics. “Coming up on five years now,” she said with a wry smile. “Captain Roshi performed the ceremony, and my father and Krillin were the only others present.” 

Bulma shook her head. “Well, that explains why your quarters are so damn huge,” she muttered. Head reeling with this revelation, she put her forehead in her hands. “And I’d love to stay for dinner.”

===============

“Nice of you to call,” Raditz said, deadpan. The cut on his face had been cleaned up, but the bruise around his eye was turning all sorts of shades of blue and yellow.

“I suddenly remembered something,” Bulma lied. “Sorry. But I have a lot to tell you, if that makes you feel better.” 

Raditz rubbed his hands together. “Oh, goody,” he said with the same unexcited tone and dead eyes. 

When Bulma told him about their breakthrough and their new-found knowledge, he seemed nonplussed. 

“Ah, so you finally know our big secret. I knew you’d get there eventually.” 

“It might have helped if you’d given us the means to translate it instead of some useless filter,” Bulma muttered. 

“Hey, that filter wasn’t useless. And besides, I told you that my father wouldn’t clear it. He’s adamant that we solve our own problems since this is ‘our fault’. His words, not mine. I don’t feel like being punished for my ancestors’ mistakes.” 

“Maybe he’ll be a little less adamant if he speaks to the other Saiyan we have on board,” Bulma said. “His name is Goku and he’d like to talk to you.” 

“That doesn’t sound like a Saiyan name,” Raditz said. “None that I’ve ever heard, anyway.” 

“He’s adopted,” Bulma replied. “And waiting. Shall I invite him in?” 

“Ah hell, why not,” Raditz said. “I’m curious. And I haven’t got anything better to do.” 

“Okay, you can come in,” Bulma called over her shoulder. Her friend emerged from the other room wearing his hood. In the low light of the room, his face was in complete shadow. 

“Hello,” Goku said as he sat down and pulled off his hood. “I think we’ve met before.”

===============

“High Command and Starfleet have decided that this matter is urgent enough to spare an envoy, so we are to expect them in two weeks. In the meantime, we have our work cut out for us. Ambassador, I trust that your contact on the _Legacy_ has proven useful?”

Bulma shook her head. “He’s been unsuccessful in convincing Captain Bardock so far. I’m afraid he’s too proud for his own good. He won’t budge.” 

“Their captain represents the Saiyan values of a century ago,” Vegeta said. “Of course he’s proud. I must say I admire his convictions.” He glanced over at Bulma. “Unfortunately, all of the ambassador’s methods have failed. Perhaps we should leave them alone, as they ask. We are clearly unwanted here.” 

“Not all of them agree with that stance, Lieutenant,” Bulma shot back, seething. How dare he undermine her like that? “My contact doesn’t, for one, and I know many of the officers are sympathetic to his viewpoint as well.” 

“So, what, you want them to mutiny so they can force the crew to accept our help?” 

“I just want their captain to see reason. If these Ice-jin are the same race that attacked Namek, the _Legacy_ won’t stand a chance against them. We have enough room on board to take on their crew for the trip home. We can make it look like the ship was abandoned so that the aliens don’t come looking for them. And if they do, well, Vegeta-sei is armed to the teeth and has the support of the Federation behind it.” 

Captain Roshi, until then silent, stepped forward. “This is not solely our decision to make. We will wait for the envoy, but in the meantime we must consider the very real threat that the Ice-jin will arrive before the envoy does. Commander, please make the necessary preparations,” he commanded, nodding toward Goku. “I will be in my ready room speaking with Starfleet. The bridge is yours.” 

Though tensions on the bridge had been high ever since Yamcha had finished translating the signals, Goku had maintained his decorum and upbeat leadership without hindrance. Commanding the bridge crew seemed effortless when he did it, his light-hearted demeanour engendering respect from his subordinates who responded to his get-things-done attitude with the kind of efficiency Bulma could only hope to achieve. 

“Every shift will assign a monitor to our long-range scanners. If they so much as stick their toes in this sector, I want to hear about it. Lieutenant, see to it that you and your team are at the ready and that weapons and shields are checked and double-checked. I have a feeling the Ice-jin aren’t the talk-things-out type,” Goku ordered, pointing at each crew member as he doled out tasks for each.

“Aye, sir,” Vegeta said. 

Goku turned toward Bulma, and his face softened just a little. “Please tell Raditz that he needs to come through for us.” 

Bulma nodded. Just as she was about to head back to her quarters, a hunger pang cramped her stomach and she rubbed it absentmindedly. She still felt queasy, but decided it was best to eat something. She would stop by the mess hall on the way. 

News of the translation and impending contact with the hostile aliens spread like wildfire throughout the ship. It was the only topic of discussion at the mess hall, and Bulma wished she knew enough to answer the questions she heard. Who were these people? Why had they waited until now to retaliate against ancient wrongs? How strong were they? She decided to ask Raditz if he knew any of this, since the _Legacy_ was the obvious recipient of the message, anyway--the transmission specifically mentioned the Saiyan race and the generation vessel in particular. 

As it turned out, when the Legacy was still new and only ten years into its exploration, they had encountered a ship of aliens who attacked on sight. The Saiyans were fierce, and though they were initially outgunned, their tenacity saved the day. The battle ended in a draw, with both ships limping away severely damaged. 

Bulma stuffed another roll into her mouth and nodded as Raditz continued his story. They were transmitting openly now, it seemed, because the _Legacy_ was also in a frenzy of preparation to receive the Colds, and nobody was monitoring intership communications anymore.

“Who _are_ the Colds, anyway?” Bulma asked, mouth full. 

“They’re the clan whose ship attacked us 90 years ago,” Raditz said. “There are a few warring clans in the Frigid Zone, all Ice-jin, but the Colds are the rulers of an empire that stretches from here almost into the Beta quadrant.” 

“Impressive,” Bulma said. “Why are they coming back now?” 

“We don’t know. Sounds like they’ve upgraded their weapons, and just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t put up a fight. They take great pleasure in squashing their enemies like bugs.” 

“We can help, you know--Starfleet is on its way. We need to change Captain Bardock’s mind and accept the aid we have to give. Have you told him about your brother?” 

Raditz shook his head. “No. I talked to him again this morning, but I haven’t told him about Kakarot yet. He’s too focused on preparing for combat even though he has to know it’ll be a losing battle. His damned pride won’t let him accept aid, and he wouldn’t think of backing down from a fight. He has a lot of supporters, unfortunately, but there are also a lot of people who are scared.” He sighed, putting both hands over his face. When he looked up at Bulma again, his eyes were shining angrily. “There are families aboard,” he said through gritted teeth. “And he’s not seeing the bigger picture. He thinks pride should come before survival, but what legacy will we have left if we’re all dead?” 

Bulma frowned. She hadn’t thought of the families. There were children on board. Of course there would be--it was a generation ship. She sighed. “One moment.” The screen went blank as she rerouted the pathway and strengthened the end-to-end encryption. Then she re-established connection. “I’ve made our connection more secure,” she explained. She couldn’t believe she was about to say this. It was a damned risky plan. “Vegeta suggested inciting a mutiny. He was kidding, of course. But do you think you could garner enough support to overthrow Bardock, even if it’s just temporary?” 

“I can’t risk the lives of the crewmen if the mutiny fails. The penalty is death. But I can challenge him. That way I’ll only risk my own ass, but I know I have enough friends on the bridge that they’ll follow my lead when I win.” 

“Do it,” Bulma agreed, and ended the transmission.

===============

It was late.

Bulma was trying to enjoy her tea alone in the mess hall, looking to take her mind off the fact that she probably sent Raditz to his death. Vegeta sat nearby with a group of officers and surreptitiously cast glances her way every thirty seconds. She pretended to ignore him, but she knew he was itching to talk. So she finished her tea, stood to leave, and in the instant it took for her to realize she was losing her balance, Vegeta was there to hold her up. 

And she thought she’d finally gotten to feeling better. 

“You’re hovering,” she muttered in annoyance as he helped her sit again. “I wish you’d leave me alone.” 

Vegeta said nothing in reply, only placed the back of his hand against her forehead. “You’re not feverish,” he stated. 

Well, duh. She could have told him that. She wasn’t sick, just tired. And she hadn’t been eating enough--a bad habit of hers. Obviously she had low blood sugar. 

He watched her for a long moment, and she felt the strong urge to hide from his intense gaze. It never failed to set her heart pounding. 

“You need to go to sick bay. Something is clearly the matter with you, and I don’t want to hear excuses.” 

She swallowed hard. “No, I need to eat something and get some sleep. I was about to head to my quarters.” 

“I will accompany you.” It was not a question. 

As they reached their destination, Vegeta stood expectantly by the door, waiting to be let in. 

“I can take care of myself, lieutenant. I’m not a child.” 

“One of those statements is true,” Vegeta scoffed. It wasn’t entirely unkind. Bulma could see the concern in his face, though he did his best to hide it. 

“I promise I will eat and go to bed,” Bulma said. 

Vegeta watched her for a moment longer, looking like he wanted to ask something but then thinking better of it. He left without another word.

===============

It had been several days since Bulma had heard from Raditz. She hoped it was because he was settling into his role as the _Legacy’s_ new captain.

The Saiyan vessel _Junpak’t_ , named for the Saiyan word for courage, kept in regular contact with _Nimbus_ as it made the journey at warp seven toward them. Bulma was at one such discussion when a communication from the bridge interrupted their proceedings. 

“ _Captain, the_ Legacy _has just ejected a pod and set it adrift._ ”

The Starfleet representative on the _Junpak’t_ graciously took her leave and ended the transmission. 

Once they were on the bridge, Captain Roshi stood with his hands clasped behind his back. Bulma stood behind him and gaped as the pod flew straight toward them. 

“The pod is hailing us, captain,” said the officer at the comm station. 

“On-screen.” 

_“Hey ambassador,”_ Raditz said, addressing Bulma as his broken visage and enormous hair filled the view screen. _“Didja miss me?”_

===============

Bulma paced back and forth. “I understand the need for caution, but he’s on our side. I’ve been in communication with him for weeks, we can trust him.”

“He could be a spy,” Vegeta replied. “I trusted him more when he was on board the _Legacy_. Why come over _now_?” 

The Saiyan High Command member on screen nodded his agreement with the prince. 

“Because he challenged the captain and lost,” Bulma said with a sigh. 

Vegeta looked up sharply. “You knew about this?” 

“I suggested it,” Bulma said, though it was only partly the truth. “It seemed like the best way to gain their cooperation.” 

“Well, great,” Vegeta said, throwing his hands in the air. “Now they’ll _never_ listen to us. Excellent work, _Ambassador_.” 

“Lieutenant,” the captain warned, tired up to his eyes of the animosity between them. 

Vegeta crossed his arms and looked away, curling his lip. “As the chief of security aboard this vessel, I cannot allow him to wander around unaccompanied.” 

“No one’s saying you have to do that,” Goku said calmingly. “But I don’t think an entire detail is necessary. He’s my brother, so _I_ can accompany him. I’d like the chance to get to know him better, anyway.” 

“Now that that’s out of the way,” Roshi said, letting that be the end of the matter, “we have options to discuss.” He turned toward the viewscreen. “As Lieutenant Vegeta has mentioned in the past, the first is that we leave them to their own devices.” 

Bulma gave Vegeta a sidelong glance, barely able to suppress her lip curling. 

“We could subdue them and force repairs on their vessel,” Roshi continued, “But that’s not a very attractive solution.” 

“The _Nimbus_ can support their crew long enough to return them to Vegeta-sei, but their captain would have to agree first,” the Starfleet representative suggested, her voice high-pitched but confident. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and clasped her hands together, waiting for the others to voice their opinions.

“Or we can stay and fight alongside them,” Goku added. “And it’s looking more and more like that’s the option we’ll have to go with.” He turned to Bulma and frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry diplomacy hasn’t worked. I know what this mission meant to you.” 

Bulma gave Goku a half-smile. “Can’t win ‘em all, Commander.” She was aware of Vegeta’s eyes on her; the energy in the room felt stifling. No one knew how much longer they had before they were forced into a decision. “Just because Raditz isn’t on the ‘inside’ anymore doesn’t mean he can’t be useful to us. He said there were other officers and crew who agreed with him. I can still try to get in touch with them,” Bulma said, glad she didn’t feel completely helpless.

Goku nodded. “Raditz said the captain still doesn’t know about me. If we could get Bardock to respond to our hails, I can greet him with my hood off. That’d make him pay attention.” 

“This is ignoring the fact that we must take their autonomy more seriously,” Vegeta said. “If they’ve decided they don’t want our help, then so be it. They could have come to us a century ago for assistance, but they did not. You heard what Raditz said in the debriefing, the Colds vowed revenge. They’ve known this was coming for the ninety-odd years.” 

“I can’t believe you’re agreeing with their captain. Saiyan pride aside, he’s leading an entire colony’s worth of people to their deaths!” Bulma retorted, hands on her hips. She continued pacing up and down the conference hall. “If I can’t get a message to sympathetic crew members that they’ll be welcome aboard the _Nimbus_ , then I must convince him to evacuate.” 

“That’d be as easy as making the Ice-jin agree to turn around and go home,” Vegeta snapped in reply, then eyed her curiously. He took a step forward, as Bulma whirled to face him, grabbing onto the back of one of the chairs for support as a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. “I haven’t seen _you_ do anything to persuade them lately,” she hissed. 

The room was silent. 

“Ambassador,” the captain said, moving closer to her along with the officers. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Bulma murmured before crumpling to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Saiyan vessel _Junpak't_ is named for the Klingon word _Kajunpak't_ , which means courage.


	6. Part Five

Raditz grinned. “I gotta say, it’s nice to get out and stretch my legs. It was starting to feel a little claustrophobic in my quarters.” 

Bulma chuckled as she looked down at her herbal tea, stirring another dollop of honey into it. “And there are worse babysitters than Goku,” she said, nodding toward where the commander was seated and keeping a watchful eye from two tables away. 

“It’s been… interesting,” Raditz said after a thoughtful pause. “He doesn’t remember anything about the _Legacy_ or… or me.” His cheek twitched, and he looked out the window. “He told me about how he was found on a human colony by an old widower who took him in. Said he’d had a bad crash, didn’t remember who he was or where he came from. He’d been in stasis for three years, they figured. Sounds about right.” 

“I know he’s glad to have met you, if that helps,” Bulma said, reaching out and putting her hand on Raditz’s. He pulled away, startled, before he let her stay put. 

Raditz looked back toward her, his dark Saiyan gaze hiding the thoughts behind him. “I’m glad to see you again, too.” 

Bulma’s breath caught in her throat, but she smiled. “It’s good to see you, too. I don’t know how the _Legacy_ is going to manage without one of their key engineers.” 

“Same way they’ve managed for the past several weeks,” Raditz said facetiously. “Disastrously.” 

Bulma couldn’t help but laugh. The easy-going Saiyan and she had become closer throughout the course of their late-night chats. It felt as though she’d known him for years. The fact that he was Goku’s brother really didn’t surprise her when she saw just how similar their mannerisms were. 

He was one of the first to come see her, along with Goku, once she’d been allowed visitors again. 

Vegeta had been one of the last. 

“Raditz,” she said suddenly, breaking herself out of that train of thought, which could only lead down a dark path right now. 

“Mm?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. His mouth was full, and the quizzical expression on his face reminded her of his brother so much that the resemblance was almost uncanny. 

“Does everybody aboard the _Legacy_ still adhere to the old Saiyan family traditions?” 

“Which ones?” he asked, wiping grease off his mouth with a napkin. 

“The ones about… bonding.” 

Raditz placed his hand over his chest, mock-scandalized. “Ambassador, this is hardly discussion for the dinner table.” 

Bulma gave him a look, head tilted. “I somehow don’t think you really care that much about manners.” 

Raditz let out a belly laugh, head thrown back. His hair was tied, but it still touched the ground when he leaned. “You humans are so weird,” he said. Then he shrugged. “We kind of abandoned it a while ago. On a small ship, they discovered that marriage isn’t the most… practical. Though some still do it.” He gave her a long, appraising look. “You’re looking a lot better than you were in sickbay yesterday.” 

“Dr. Korin is good at his job, despite his bedside manner,” Bulma said. “Though he’s trying to make me start a diet regimen that doesn’t look very appealing.” 

Raditz pulled a face that made her laugh. “Yeesh,” he said. “Remind me not to get sick.” He punctuated his statement with another massive bit of the turkey leg on his plate. “Oh, look, it’s his royal highness,” he said, waving the now-clean bone toward the door. 

Bulma turned to see Vegeta enter with the captain. They spoke to one of the engineers and then glanced over in in her and Raditz’s direction. 

“Uh-oh, I don’t like that look,” Raditz muttered. 

Bulma raised an eyebrow. “What, you think they’re going to recruit your help in engineering this soon? Ha! Like they’d let _you_ near the warp engine.” 

“If there’s one thing I learned in my working life, Bulma, it’s that engineering can _always_ use extra hands.” 

Sure enough, the captain did head their way, but he stopped to speak with Goku instead of walking all the way over. He said something inaudible, and then Goku shook his head. 

Bulma and Raditz were silent as they watched the exchange. 

Once it was over, Goku ambled over and patted Raditz on the shoulder. “I’m needed elsewhere, and where I go, you go. C’mon,” he said, an amiable expression on his face. “It’s about time you got to tour the bridge.” 

While they spoke, Bulma watched Vegeta watching them. His face was stormy, like he couldn’t stand the very concept of the other Saiyan being on _his_ ship, talking to _his_ woman. Bulma rolled her eyes, then caught his. They stared wordlessly at each other for a long moment before the captain caught Vegeta’s attention again. As they left, Raditz in tow, Vegeta cast another unhappy glance over his shoulder at Bulma.

===============

The envoy was expected to arrive in two days. Bulma and Raditz strategized together to figure out the best way to get Captain Bardock’s attention, leaving Vegeta out of the picture. Raditz hadn’t managed to tell him about Kakarot, who worked happily on the other side of the room on his own tasks.

“You really couldn’t have just blurted it out?” Bulma asked. “You know, first time you got an audience with him after you found out? ‘Hey, dad, turns out your other son is on that ship!’” 

Raditz shook his head. “Didn’t want to get my ass beat any more than I had to. He’s very heavy-handed in the way he runs the ship. Doesn’t take flak from anybody, including me. Especially me. No one’s going to accuse him of nepotism, that’s for sure.” 

Bulma hummed sympathetically. “We’ll figure out a way, I’m sure of it. Maybe he’ll be proud that Goku is the first officer on such a fine ship.” 

“If he could see past his prejudice for a damned minute, maybe.” 

“It doesn’t happen overnight. He’ll come around eventually.” 

Raditz poked at the console, narrowing his eyes as he seemed to come up with an idea. “I wonder if we… no. Maybe I could…” 

Bulma watched him in fascination. Though built for war, his movements were gentle and precise. He brought a certain attentiveness to everything he was doing, where Bulma had expected brashness. She startled out of her musings by the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. 

“Care to explain why I, the officer _assigned to this task_ , am being excluded from these plans?” Vegeta asked, arms crossed. He stood up to his full height, not that it afforded him much in the way of intimidation next to Raditz’s hulking form. But he did bring to the table his entire lifetime of training as a Saiyan royal, and Bulma instinctively shrunk back as he approached. 

Vegeta’s calculating eyes flickered between her and Raditz, then down to Raditz’s hands. “I hope you weren’t going to do that without clearing it with me first.” He addressed Bulma when he said this, though without the familiarity that had begun to creep into his voice throughout the course of her stay. “It seems that you’ve already forgotten everything you learned about protocol. Perhaps you should take a refresher.” 

“Let me guess, Lieutenant, you’re going to volunteer to teach?” Bulma said. She could detect his jealousy about how much time she was spending with Raditz. And perhaps she did enjoy toying with his emotions just a little, cruel as it was. Payback was a dish best served cold. 

“As I said, it _is_ my assigned task to assist you,” he said. “I would appreciate it if you refrained from making my job more difficult.” 

Raditz threw her a look over Vegeta’s shoulder, catching Bulma’s eye with a smirk. “Listen, Lieutenant, you might be Royal back on Vegeta-sei, but to me you’re just a royal pain in the ass.” 

Bulma’s eyes widened at the brazenness of his statement, and Goku glanced over at them from across the room, eyebrow raised. “Raditz,” Bulma chided, hoping to stop him from saying something even more stupid. 

Vegeta faced the other Saiyan calmly, which Bulma knew was no small feat for him with his quick temper and prescriptivism to the philosophy of Saiyan pride. “You have a loose tongue for somebody who was just granted asylum,” he stated. I’d keep that in check if I were you. Just some friendly, _Royal_ advice.” 

The threat was veiled, but it was there. 

Raditz grinned challengingly at him. “Yes sir, _your highness_.” 

Bulma could practically see the dam that held back the floodtide of Vegeta’s anger. Deciding she didn’t want to be present when all hell broke loose, she exclaimed that she required something from her quarters and departed. 

When she returned, Vegeta was nowhere to be found. 

“Did you scare him off?” she asked, gripping her padd against her stomach nervously. 

Raditz glanced up at her and shrugged. “Nah, I let him say his piece, and he took off.” 

“Big of you.” 

“I see what you mean about the stick up his ass. _Man_ is it ever going to be fun to push his buttons.” 

Bulma put her face in her palm. “Please try not to cause too much trouble. I have enough to worry about.” 

Raditz shrugged with practiced indifference and turned back to the task at hand. “Then let’s figure this sucker out, shall we?”

===============

Bulma stood in the receiving line alongside Captain Roshi and Commander Son when they welcomed the Starfleet representative and the Saiyan High Command member aboard.

“It is good to finally meet you in person,” Roshi said, shaking the representative’s hand enthusiastically. 

Bulma and Goku caught each other’s eye, and she gave him a wry smile before turning her attention toward the councilman. She placed her palms flat in the traditional greeting, and he reciprocated by crossing his wrists and placing his palms flat down on hers. They maintained eye contact for an almost uncomfortable length of time before she politely conceded to him and dipped her hands away so that he could move on down the line. 

The captain and commander followed suit while Bulma shook the representative’s hand. She seemed to be about Bulma’s age, if not a little older, and her long indigo hair was pulled back in a flowing ponytail. 

As they were shown to their respective quarters, the representative made polite conversation with Bulma. Her voice seemed even higher-pitched in person than it had when they spoke through a viewscreen, but she was nice, and Bulma was glad for the feminine company since Chichi was too busy to visit most days. 

She leaned toward Bulma as they neared the end of their walk. “Your captain seems a little… odd,” she murmured quietly so that the rest of their party couldn’t hear. “He’s not like any other Starfleet captain I’ve ever met.” 

“He’s definitely eccentric, but he’s good at what he does,” Bulma replied with a shrug. “You get used to him. I’ve known him since I was fresh out of the academy.” 

The representative tilted her head and smiled. “I didn’t know you went to the academy. Why are you not an officer? If you don’t mind my asking.” 

“I had other goals in life I wanted to pursue,” Bulma said. “But my training does come in handy. It’s also why Starfleet tends to use me for negotiations when my father is too busy.” 

The representative stopped. “Wait, who’s your father? I don’t know you, but I surely must know him if he’s an ambassador as well.” 

Bulma laughed. “I guess my exploits haven’t made it back to headquarters, then? My father is Dr. Briefs.” 

“Oh,” the representative said. “I had no idea. I knew he had daughters, but…” she trailed off, giggling and rubbing the back of her head nervously. “Well, I must applaud your work, then. I don’t think I could ever make it a habit to be out exploring space and doing what you do. I much prefer to sit behind my desk at my West City office.” 

“Well, Ms. Kusami, I daresay you’re quite brave coming all the way out here.” 

The representative smiled and turned toward her quarters. “Higher-ups thought I could use a little excitement, I guess. And please, call me Launch.”

===============

Bulma was eating a late breakfast with Launch in the mess hall when Raditz walked in, scanning the room and quickly catching her eye.

“Kakarot showed me something called the ‘holodeck’ today,” Raditz said as he approached, excitedly slipping into the empty third seat at Bulma’s table. He nodded a brief hello to Launch, who reciprocated the gesture. 

“It’s incredible. And I can’t believe you hid it from me.” 

Bulma laughed. “I didn’t do it intentionally.” She glanced at Launch for support, but Launch just giggled and shrugged. 

Raditz fiddled with the something on the edge of the table and Bulma attempted to turn back to her plate. This was the first time all day she’d had a moment to relax. She’d spent the morning in meetings with the captain, officers, and their visitors. 

But Saiyans were a rambunctious bunch, Bulma knew, unless they were royalty. Raditz practically vibrated in his seat for the next two minutes as the silence stretched out between them. Finally, she gave in and looked up at him. 

He was nervously staring at her, mouth half-open as if he were about to speak. 

“What is it?” she asked, amused. Bulma watched as Raditz’s face flushed a deep crimson and he glanced nervously at Launch, who picked up on Raditz’s feelings and excused herself to order something else from the replicator. 

As soon as Launch was out of earshot, Raditz leaned in. “The holodeck is private, right? Like people can’t just walk in on you?” 

“You can set it to do not disturb, but officers have overrides that allow them entry. They only use them in emergencies, though.” 

“Good, good,” Raditz muttered. He glanced up at Launch to see that she was still pondering her choices, and he turned back to Bulma. “Well,” he began, fingers tapping against the table and legs bouncing anxiously. He was a bundle of nervous energy, and it was starting to stress Bulma out. “I was wondering if you wanted to… come with me to the holodeck. Kakarot told me you can program a simulation of anything in the computer’s database. I’d love to see what Vegeta-sei looks like, we could have dinner, dessert…” 

Bulma blinked once, then twice. Was he asking her on a date? “I’d love to. Will your brother be joining us?” 

“Well I thought,” Raditz said, somehow turning an even darker shade of red, “Since it’s an enclosed room, maybe they’d make do with a couple of security officers outside the door so it could be just the two of us.” He looked away briefly to collect himself before turning back toward her. “So what do you say?” 

Throughout all of this, Bulma managed to keep her expression as neutral as possible, even if she could feel her own cheeks heating up a little. “Dinner on Vegeta-sei sounds great,” she said just as lieutenant Vegeta happened to walk by.

===============

Bulma startled awake to an urgent chiming at her door. She stood, put on her robe, and padded to the control panel. “Vegeta?” she yawned sleepily as she pushed the button to open the door. “It’s the middle of the night. What do you want?”

“Are you alone?” Vegeta replied in a tone that made obvious he thought she wasn’t. He tried glancing into her quarters, but she blocked his gaze with her body. 

Bulma rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Of course I’m alone. I was sleeping. _What do you want?_ ” 

“Tch,” he said, looking away. He wore his off-duty uniform as though he’d hastily put it on--like he didn’t expect anybody to see him in it. “Sleeping. Right. So how was your little holodeck jaunt? Is he to claim you as his mate now, too?” 

“What the fu- Vegeta, what the hell,” Bulma cried out once she realized who ‘he’ was, affronted that he’d even suggest such a notion. What nerve! And he found _her_ crude! 

“Bulma!” Vegeta snapped as the door _whooshed_ shut in his face. 

Bulma’s eyes filled with tears. That jealous, impetuous, pipsqueak of a Saiyan-- she knew she’d made the right decision to refuse to marry him. Yet now she was inextricably linked to him, whether she liked it or not. She hoped this Cold crisis would end soon so she could return home and take a goddamn break from the emotional turbulence she couldn’t seem to escape from since the moment she stepped aboard the _Nimbus_. 

“Bulma, please, we need to talk.” Vegeta pounded futilely on the door. His voice came through muffled, but still angry. 

“Leave me alone, Vegeta.” 

“I know the secret you’re trying to hide from me, Bulma.” And the sharpness was gone, replaced with something a lot more melancholy. 

“I told you, Raditz is not here. There’s nothing _to_ hide.” She couldn’t help but let a sob escape her lips. Why wouldn’t he believe her? It had been a lot more difficult these days to mask how she truly felt. Every time she looked at him, her stomach would turn. And more than once she could feel his dark gaze boring into her back like he was trying to suss out some deep-held secret. 

“No, not him. Bulma. _I know._ ” 

The urgency in his voice pushed aside the sleep-fog that cushioned her mind. She turned and opened the door, flexing her fingers. The tears in her eyes spilled over and streamed down her face, but she was ready to fight him off with her fists if she had to. 

His wrecked features matched her own. “Bulma,” he whispered, angry, hot tears of his own streaking his cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Suddenly it clicked what he was talking about, and she wordlessly stood aside to let him in. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen him cry. 

They sat in silence on her couch, next to each other but not quite touching, for a long time. Bulma thought about falling asleep again, but her thoughts were too out of control and she’d never succeed. She took another shaky breath. “How did you find out?” 

“I sensed it. Through our bond.” 

“Oh, enough with this ‘bond’ bullshit,” Bulma said, heaving a dramatic sigh and rolling her eyes. “Were you snooping through my medical records?” 

Vegeta huffed out a short breath. “I’m serious. I think I felt it before you found out, but I didn’t know what it was. Something was _different_. Plus your symptoms…” he trailed off, turning to look at her imploringly. “You know it is a trait of the Saiyan race that we bond with our mates.” 

“But I’m not your mate. I’m not anybody’s mate. I don’t want to be.” 

“Being mates is about more than being somebody’s spouse. It’s a deep connection that transcends distance, never fades… I swear, I am _trying_ to give you space, Bulma. But we need to talk about this. Our connection goes beyond a simple ceremony, or any tradition my people has. We’re bonded, and with this…” he waved at her stomach then, “Development, we’re going to have to figure out what to do. It’s going to affect us for the rest of our lives.” His voice was tight, like he was trying to hold back a myriad emotions that threatened to spill out and drown them both. 

Bulma drew the courage to look him in the eye. “I know,” she whispered. “I know.” And then the sobbing returned with all its gasping, wet, and shuddery glory, and Vegeta pulled her close to him and simply held her as she cried. 

Once she had exhausted herself, Bulma took a deep breath and stood to get a glass of water. 

“I will stay here tonight. I can sleep on the couch.” 

Bulma shook her head as she programmed the replicator. “I’ll be fine, Vegeta. Thank you,” she added as an afterthought. She had no more energy to bear him any ill-will. Or so she thought. 

“What did Raditz think of Vegeta-sei?” 

Bulma paused before reaching for her ice-cold glass. Why was he bringing this up now? “He thought it was nice.” She turned back toward him, keeping her back to the wall and her distance from him. “Nothing happened,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “He mistook something I said to him before as interest, but I set him straight. We are friends, Vegeta, nothing more.” 

“Good, you deserve someone better than him.” 

Bulma nearly dropped her glass. She turned to him and gave him as scathing a once-over as she could manage. Here she thought they’d come to a sort of understanding, but he couldn’t help himself, could he? “Who, someone like _you_? You think he’s unworthy because he wasn’t born on your homeworld? Or because he doesn’t cower to your every demand? Or because he isn’t royalty like you are?” 

“I don’t trust him,” Vegeta said simply. “I don’t want to see you hurt.” 

“You’re the last person who would hear about it, anyway.” 

They were quiet for a long time again. Vegeta seemed to be contemplating what to say in response, while Bulma took a long drink from her water. “I don’t think I could trust my feelings to somebody who could sentence their own people to death by leaving them to fend for themselves. Dammit, Vegeta, I knew you were calculating, but I didn’t know you were that cold.” 

“This isn’t black and white, and that isn’t what we’re talking about. You have more than just yourself to think of now.” 

“And as soon as all of this is over, I’m going back to Vegeta-sei,” Bulma said. “So I’ll be out of your hair, and you can continue your precious _career_ in peace while I try to figure out what to do about mine.” 

Vegeta’s gaze pinned her to the wall. “If we stay and fight like everyone seems to think we should, there’s a chance you don’t make it out of this alive,” he hissed. “And I’m not going to lose you both. I don’t give a fuck about my career. I just need you safe.” 

Bulma wrapped her arms around her middle. What did it matter if she lived if a thousand Saiyans had to die for that choice? 

Vegeta stood. “I want you to inform the captain of your condition and arrange to take a pod out of this sector.”

“Not going to happen,” Bulma said. “My mission is not complete, and I am not going to abandon it.”

“Dammit, Bulma, would you quit being so stubborn?” 

“I thought you used to like that about me.” Bulma crossed her arms and stood her ground. 

“I still do,” Vegeta said quietly, like he’d given up. “The gods know I still do.” 

Then he turned on his heel and left Bulma alone in her quarters, her heart feeling as cold as the glass in her hand.

===============

“You look like you could use this,” Launch said as she brought a plate of chocolate cake to the table for Bulma.

“But it’s breakfast time,” Bulma replied, eyeing the cake with weakening resolve. 

“Time is fake in space.” Launch shrugged and smiled, pushing the plate toward her new friend and wiggling the fork enticingly at her. “C’mon. It’s okay to eat your feelings sometimes.” 

Bulma snorted. “Man, if I had a chocolate cake for every time I needed to do that,” she laughed and took the fork. “You’re a bad influence.” 

“Only when my friends are upset,” she replied and tucked into her own reasonable breakfast of sausages, eggs, and pancakes. The smells made Bulma’s stomach gurgle with hunger, but the chocolate cake’s beckoning was too strong, and she had the first bite in her mouth before she could resist. It was _heavenly_ , and Bulma had eaten a lot of chocolate cake in her time. 

“You wanna talk about it?” Launch asked, perching her head on her hand and watching Bulma with big eyes. 

“You’re going to judge me,” Bulma sighed, keeping her eyes fixed on her chocolate cake. She scooped another forkful into her mouth and hummed, letting the icing melt all her cares away. 

“Is it about the lieutenant?” Launch asked, eyeing Vegeta from where he sat with his back to them across the room. 

“It’s apparently been about him from the moment I stepped foot on this ship,” Bulma muttered. Watching as he ate alongside other officers, it was like he was all alone with the space between them and his natural standoffishness. Bulma wondered how he was managing after their fight, but decided quickly that she didn’t care. 

“We all spying on the prince?” Raditz whispered beside them, startling both women out of their covert reconnaissance. 

“Wouldn’t call it spying,” Bulma said, taking another massive bite of chocolate cake. She had a feeling her present company wouldn’t be too appalled at her unladylike manner. 

“He seems… stiff,” Launch said, while Raditz guffawed and momentarily drew the attention of the tables around them.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Bulma said. 

“If he’s half as insufferable as Rabi,” Launch said, referring to the Saiyan councilman with whom she’d travelled, “then I would say don’t bother with him.” 

“It’s a bit too late for that,” Bulma sighed. 

“I’m sorry to tell you, but every Saiyan you’ll ever meet is going to be an insufferable dick, present company included,” Raditz said with a grin. “Except my brother. He’s kinda soft. Didn’t inherit any of our father’s ruthlessness.” 

“Does Bardock ever concede on anything?” Bulma asked. 

Raditz shrugged. “Only where mom’s involved. You met her, actually. She was sitting next to him at the dinner I wasn’t invited to.” 

Something clicked in Bulma’s brain. “What’s your mom’s name?” she asked as the gears turned and she started to formulate a plan. 

“Gine.”

===============

Tension on the _Nimbus_ thickened as the days passed with no indication that the Colds were anywhere nearby. Starfleet had been silent about the Namekian Crisis, and the crew grew more on edge every day.

Bulma tried and tried with no avail to contact Gine, Raditz’ and Goku’s mother. If what Raditz said was true, then she might be the key to winning the Saiyans over to their side, if only they could reach her. With each failure, Bulma grew more irritated. 

Her annoyance came to a head when she nearly bit off the head of the poor, well-meaning crewman who brought her a cup of black tea. 

“I can’t _have_ caffeine!” Buma shrieked, pissed off that the crewman dare remind her of that fact. 

“Ambassador,” Vegeta said, turning to watch the crewman running from the room with his figurative tail between his legs. 

“What,” Bulma snapped without looking up. She adjusted a set of dials and tried hailing again. Nada. 

“Captain Roshi requests your presence at his table tonight,” Vegeta stated. 

So he was here on formal ship business. 

As if that made his interruption any better. 

Bulma took a deep breath, let it out through her nose, and turned toward the lieutenant. The captain’s invitation to dine with him had been standing from the moment she set foot on this ship. Lately, however, as her mission dragged on and her previous transgressions came back to bite her in the ass, she’d been spending more and more of her evening meals alone in her quarters. She gave Vegeta a once-over. In addition to his usual Starfleet uniform, he’d lately taken to wearing his traditional Saiyan chestplate. She had to admit, it did accentuate his physique in all the right ways. “Will you be joining us as well?” There was a hint of seduction in her tone that she hadn’t meant to let creep in there. 

“I will,” Vegeta said. He didn’t seem to pick up on it, thankfully, but he did tense up at the question--like he expected her to decline once she learned his response. 

But if Bulma declined, she knew there would be uncomfortable questions later. “Please tell the captain I would be delighted.” She felt her irritation starting to melt away the longer he watched her thoughtfully. Was this some side effect of the supposed _bond_ they shared? 

“One other question, ambassador. Have you been sending encrypted transmissions to the _Legacy_ recently?”

Bulma furrowed her brow. “I’ve been trying to contact Raditz’s mother Gine,” she said. But that was no secret. 

“Nothing else?” 

“No.” 

“Interesting.” As Vegeta turned to leave, she called after him: “Send Launch and Raditz in, would you?” 

Vegeta scowled. “I’m not your servant,” he muttered. 

Raditz and Launch arrived together not even ten minutes later.

===============

Bulma read an old earth novel on her padd while Raditz and Launch sat and chatted happily by the window. They’d only known each other for a few days, but already they had taken a shine to each other. Bulma was just happy that Raditz’s attention was off of her, though they still spoke at length whenever they found themselves in the mess hall together.

There was an empty seat beside Bulma, who was so engrossed in her novel that she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. 

“So,” a deep voice said beside her and startled her back to present. 

She turned to look at Piccolo, whose face remained as expressionless as ever. “Adding ‘matchmaker’ to your list of skills, I see.” 

“I’m happy they have each other,” Bulma said with a shrug. “Gives me some time alone.” 

Piccolo crossed his arms, his looming figure blocking her view of her friends as he lingered.

Bulma rolled her eyes. “Vegeta sent you over with a message, didn’t he? Out with it.” 

“He says you need to tell the captain what’s going on, and that he’ll have a pod ready to depart in a couple hours.” 

“Well, tell the lieutenant I already said _no_ ,” Bulma replied, a tiny frown adorning her face. She mirrored Piccolo’s crossed arms and sighed. “And tell him to stop dragging other people into this.” 

Piccolo shrugged. “I will not pretend to understand what strange things are going on between the two of you,” he started uncomfortably, “but it’s clear even to me that he holds you in high regard. I have known him for some time, and while we often share the same voice on a matter, even when we disagree I find him to be a reasonable man.” 

Bulma placed her padd on the table and appraised the Namekian. “Professionally, perhaps,” she said. “But he leaves a lot to be desired personally.”

===============

The mood on the bridge was solemn; the time for making decisions had passed.

 

“How long?” the captain asked. 

“Three days, sir. They’ll be here in three days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here they come: the end times.


	7. Part Six

Bulma’s hand shook as she tried frequency after frequency. Time was running short. To mount a full-scale evacuation would take a full day, and they would want time to prepare… if she didn’t reach Gine, if Bardock didn’t at least hear her out, she wasn’t sure how she’d live with herself if the _Legacy_ didn’t make it. Deep inside, she knew that she wasn’t at fault, but she couldn’t help but take this situation personally. 

“Gine, Bardock, _please_ ,” she murmured. Raditz had given her a set of frequencies to try contacting the captain directly in his quarters, but so far none of them had worked. Rows of lights flashed on her console, but she was so sleep-deprived that her eyes blurred and she couldn’t tell what they meant. She rubbed her stomach absent-mindedly, determining that if, no, _when_ she made it through this crisis, she was going to march herself to sick bay and follow all of the doctor’s care routines. And then she’d catch a ride home to Vegeta-sei on the _Junpak’t_ , where she knew there were doctors who were experienced with Saiyan-Human pregnancies. 

_“Ambassador, you are persistent if nothing else,”_ the annoyed voice of the Saiyan captain crackled over her comm. _“I assume your ship has detected the Ice-jin.”_

“They’ve been on long-range scanners since yesterday,” Bulma replied, breathless from shock that he actually responded. There was no video feed. 

_“We picked them up on ours an hour ago,”_ Bardock replied. 

“Captain, please. We can help. You must consider evacuation,” Bulma pleaded. “We have more than enough room-”

_“And run away like cowards? You insult me, ambassador. For someone who was raised with Saiyans, you sure don’t seem to know a lot about us.”_

Bulma groaned and combed her hand through her hair. “You don’t understand. We have your son on board.”

_“We’re aware that you took him in, yes. He’s a useless traitor. Do with him as you please.”_

“No, your _other_ son,” Bulma said. There was a long silence, and she checked to see if they were still transmitting.

Then the video feed kicked in, and Bardock stared at Bulma, chin resting on his steepled fingers. _“I only have one son,”_ he replied after a long minute. 

“Raditz told me everything. About how he was responsible for what happened to Kakarot. Well, it turns out that Kakarot is now the first officer aboard _Nimbus_. He looks just like you, Bardock; there’s no mistaking it. He _is_ your son. So please, evacuate. Let us take you home so you can be reunited with your family.”

Something in Bardock’s countenance gave Bulma the hope he’d change his mind, but then the view screen went blank. Their audio feed was still connected, and Bardock muttered, “I will do what I must to protect this vessel. I will think about your suggestion.” Then he ended the transmission altogether. 

Bulma paged for the captain and his officers to meet her in the conference room. They had a lot of planning to do.

===============

“Commander Son to the bridge, please acknowledge,” the captain repeated for the second time. His eyebrows furrowed with worry, and he glanced back at Vegeta.

“Computer, locate Commander Son,” Vegeta asked. 

_“Commander Son is not aboard this vessel.”_

The bridge went silent. All eyes turned to the captain. 

“Computer, where _is_ Commander Son if he is not aboard this vessel?” Vegeta slowly looked up at the viewscreen and watched as the _Legacy_ powered up her engines. 

_“Transporter logs indicate Commander Son was beamed aboard the _Legacy_ at 1706 hours.”_

“Who authorized this?” the captain asked. “Computer, whose code was used for this transport?” 

_“Records indicate that Commander Son’s authorization codes were used to transport him off the_ Nimbus _. They were also used to authorize the disembarkation of the Saiyan pod ‘Legacy Seven’.”_

“There are reports coming in from engineering that several components have been stolen,” Vegeta said. 

“Captain, we’re being hailed.” 

“On-screen.” 

The bridge crew of the _Nimbus_ gasped collectively when they saw Bardock’s face for the first time. Even those who knew the truth about Goku’s parentage, aside from Bulma, couldn’t help but gawk. Bardock looked exactly like his son, save for the enormous scar on his cheek and the cutthroat gleam in his eyes. 

Raditz stood beside him looking incredibly guilty. “Bulma,” he said, staring directly at her. “I’m sorry.” 

“Raditz, I don’t understand, why aren’t you _here_?” she asked, her heart sinking as she parsed what was going on. 

“Silence,” Bardock snapped at Raditz, who had been about to speak. He turned back toward the viewscreen, lips pulling up into a smirk. “Thank you for delivering Kakarot to me. And for all of these handy spare parts. Now we stand a fighting chance against those bastards.” 

“I trusted you, Raditz,” Bulma said, voice low. “I thought we agreed evacuation was the only way.” 

Bardock turned to Raditz. “I’m proud of you. You’ve finally proven yourself. Take your brother and get him ready to fight.” 

“If you insist on being so stubborn,” Captain Roshi said, “Then we’re going to stay and fight with you, or you won’t stand a chance--and I’d really like my first officer to make it through this battle alive.” 

Bardock shrugged. “So be it.” 

The transmission ended, and Roshi turned to Vegeta and Piccolo. “You two, get the pods battle ready.” 

“Already done, sir,” Vegeta said. 

The captain nodded and turned back toward the bridge, barking out orders with the same practiced efficiency displayed by Goku. He ordered sick bay readied, drills run, and for the _Junpak’t_ to take Launch and Rabi out of the sector for their safety. Both objected, but Bulma overrode Launch’s authority, and Vegeta overrode Rabi’s, so the ship was prepared for departure. 

As the crew made its final preparations, Vegeta pulled Bulma aside into a small cove off the main hallway on deck seven, where she’d been helping a team of engineers make final preparations. He wore his Saiyan armour.--this was the first time she’d seen it since they both lived on Vegeta-sei. The shoulder pads jutted out, visually broadening his already muscular chest. His eyes burned with indomitable longing for battle and fire coursed through his veins. 

They stared at each other for a long time. A myriad things were left unsaid, but Bulma could read it all in Vegeta’s eyes. The heartbreak that she hadn’t chosen to be with him. The terror that he would lose her. The fear that _he_ wouldn’t be the one to make it out alive. 

“Bulma,” he supplicated her, voice hoarse with raw emotion. “ _Please_ go with the _Junpak’t_. Keep our baby safe. There’s nothing more for you here. You’ve done enough.” 

She wanted to protest. Surely her skills could still benefit the crew; she wasn’t just another pretty face, after all, and her engineering ability would be really helpful--but then their lips met, and suddenly nothing else mattered in the world; his hands found hers, held them tight as if he was going to lose her that very minute. A vision entered Bulma’s mind of their future together as a family. No, not a vision. Vegeta’s thoughts mingled with hers through their bond as he pulled her close. 

Tears sprang to Bulma’s eyes as they parted, and she understood the unspoken promise of Vegeta’s commitment to her. So she agreed. She packed a few essentials, knowing she could pick up everything else she needed later on, and boarded the _Junpak’t_. Just as they were about to clear for takeoff from the docking hold, Chichi burst through the doors with a bag over her shoulder. “Wait!” she cried. “I’m coming with you!”

===============

Bulma watched out the aft viewport as _Nimbus_ grew smaller and smaller until it was just a tiny speck among the cosmos. “Are we going to keep in touch with them?” she asked.

Launch, who was busy in the copilot’s seat flicking switches and setting their course for the nearest Federation supply station, nodded. “That’s the plan,” she said. “I’ll need to report to Starfleet what’s going on. I’ve sent out an urgent request for more ships, but I’m afraid it’ll take too long for them to get here.” 

Bulma nodded in acknowledgement. Her heart ached; she felt helpless, alone, and terrified of what was to come. 

“They’ll be okay,” Chichi murmured, looking like she was trying to reassure herself as well. 

“Do you really think so?” Bulma fought the urge to curl up in an anxious ball, trying to ward off the sinking feeling that she would never see _Nimbus_ or her crew again. 

Chichi nodded resolutely. “I really do. They’ll _have_ to be.” She took her friend’s hands and stared deeply into her eyes. “Saiyans are smart. That’s why Captain Bardock took Goku--sure, because he’s his son, but Goku is _smart_. And so is Vegeta--they’re both survivors. If I don’t have faith in them, I have nothing.” She chuckled darkly. “Sometimes I wish I weren’t an empath. Goku and I are so attuned to each other that I can oftentimes feel what he’s feeling, even across great distances.”

===============

The Ice-jin’s ship came into viewing range early the next morning. As they drew nearer to weapons range, Captain Roshi attempted to hail them. He reasoned if they knew the _Legacy_ had the protection of the Federation, perhaps they would think twice before making their attack.

Vegeta didn’t have the same faith. He predicted that the Colds’ need for revenge likely outweighed any logical reaction to the threat _Nimbus_ posed. And he was right. 

The captain of the Ice-jin ship introduced himself with the same high-pitched voice they’d heard on the transmissions. His name was Frieza, son of the Ice-jin emperor, destroyer of planets. Despite his stature, the lizard-like man’s presence carried with it such a sense of foreboding that Vegeta’s primal fight-or-flight activated. If his training hadn’t overwhelmed any base urges, the lieutenant thought he might have fled the bridge. 

Frieza addressed Roshi with as much condescension as he could muster: “Out of my way, Federation. I am here to wipe out the filthy Saiyans, but I will destroy you too if you get in the way.” 

Roshi crossed his arms and drew himself up to his full height. “They are under our protection. Leave this sector or we will take defensive action.” 

Vegeta watched in disgust as the little lizard-man’s face twisted into a sneer and he stepped out of his floating captain’s chair, tail whipping back and forth. “You leave, or we’ll blow you into oblivion.”

Vegeta ran a scan of their weapon systems, only to find the _Nimbus’s_ sensors repelled by a strange field around Frieza’s ship. 

“Trust me, captain, you do not want war with the Federation. Strike this ship and you will have dozens of allied systems on your tail before you can say ‘revenge’.” 

“Oh, Federation, you think I’m so easily swayed by your threats? Watch me.” 

The viewscreen cut out. 

“They’ve deployed two smaller vessels, captain,” Vegeta said as he tracked their progress on the monitor. “They appear to be highspeed war cruisers.” 

The captain nodded in acknowledgement. “Lieutenants Piccolo and Vegeta, report to the pod hanger. We’re expecting company.” 

“Aye, captain,” the two officers said in tandem and rushed side-by-side to the turbo lift.

===============

_“Do you read me, Lieutenants?”_

“Loud and clear, Commander.” Vegeta allowed himself a tiny smile of gratification. At least Bardock was smart enough to put his captive to good use. Goku was one of the best pilots on _Nimbus_. 

_“I’m in position, Commander,”_ Piccolo’s voice crackled through the comm.

_“Great,”_ said Goku. _“Kame formation. Don’t let them get a clear shot at_ _Legacy_.” 

“Aye, Commander,” Vegeta acknowledged as he ran a final check of his weapons. He trained them on the incoming cruisers as they approached at warp, but his console warbled with an incoming hail from one of the vessels. “I’m being hailed.” 

_“Find out what they want.”_

Vegeta answered the hail, and his viewscreen was filled with the handsome face of a tall, green, long-haired man. “This is your final warning,” he said. “Out of our way, or we _will_ destroy you.” 

“You’re not Ice-jin,” Vegeta said. He watched out his port window as Goku and Piccolo put their pods between him and the other cruiser. 

_“So you Saiyans_ aren’t _as dumb as your reputation suggests,”_ the pilot crooned. _“What a surprise.”_

_“Commander,”_ Piccolo’s voice said over the comm. _“I’m detecting strange energy readings to the left of both ships.”_

_“I’m getting it too,”_ Commander Son replied. _“Nimbus, what do you make of it?”_

_“Could be cloaking,”_ an officer replied just as five ships revealed themselves behind Vegeta--between him and the _Nimbus_. 

The five ships zipped about in formation so quickly that Vegeta could barely keep track of them. Dread bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, and the realization was out of his mouth the moment he thought it: “We’re outnumbered!” he shouted as they opened fire. 

_“They’re going for_ Nimbus, _I’m going to cut them off,_ ” Piccolo said, veering out of the formation and toward the ships. 

_“What’s going on out there?”_ the captain demanded. 

_“They’re ignoring us, Captain. Switching tactics…”_

Vegeta waited on the commander’s orders and watched in horror as the five ships and two cruisers, true to Piccolo’s keen observation, opened fire on _Nimbus_ , ignoring the pods altogether. 

_“Take them out!”_ Goku commanded. _“They underestimate us. They’ll regret that.”_

===============

The _Nimbus_ was defenseless. With her shields and weapons disabled, she was a sitting duck among the cosmos. The Saiyan pods had barely put a dent in the battle cruisers and supporting ships, and just as Roshi had prepared to fire, a sixth vessel made its appearance and went for the disabling blow.

Vegeta watched in horror as the ships turned their attention to the _Legacy_. She wouldn’t stand a chance against their advanced weaponry and would be blown to smithereens before Frieza’s ship even made its appearance. “Commander, I’m going for their leader,” Vegeta informed his superior as he diverted all non-essential power to shields. “I’m going to use Galaxy Breaker.” 

_“That’s a hand-to-hand technique,”_ Goku replied. _“How are you planning to use it against a ship?”_

Vegeta didn’t often get the chance to outshine his fellow Saiyan, having been assigned to an exploratory vessel, but he saw his opportunity now. If he could modify the technique to surround his pod with ki instead of just his body, his plan should work. “You’ll see,” Vegeta said, cranking the thruster and shooting toward the cluster of ships. 

The battle cruisers didn’t hesitate to fire as Vegeta maneuvered the pod in front of their ships. The turbulence of constant fire tossed the pod about, rattling Vegeta around the tiny cockpit, but the shields held. He closed his eyes and focused his pent-up ki outward, filling the pod with blinding blue-white light. 

Time slowed down. Hyper-aware of every passing second, Vegeta’s ki flared as he breathed in, ebbed as he exhaled, and expanded against the crushing void of outer space. 

_“Shields at 30%”_ , his onboard computer said. 

Only a little more time--

The ki passed through the pod’s outer hull with no resistance. 

_“Shields at 15%”_. 

Vegeta could feel the photon blasts in his core as the barrage continued relentlessly. 

Suddenly overwhelmed by a mixture of pain, grief, and sheer ferocity, Vegeta let go of his control and shouted into nihility, reversing the attack and overloading the battle cruisers’ engines in a shower of sparks and an explosion that rocked the _Legacy_ , the _Nimbus_ , and every shuttle in the vicinity with a mighty blast. 

Vegeta regained consciousness to the pod’s onboard computer informing him of a hull breach. “I’m dead in the water,” he muttered into the comm link. “Major damage to the pod. _Nimbus_ , do you have tractor beams?” 

_“Negative, Lieutenant,”_ the captain replied. _“But we’ve got even bigger problems. Look behind you.”_

Vegeta maneuvered the pod in a 180 and felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Frieza’s ship loomed over all of them, ready to destroy the now-defenseless vessels.

===============

Bardock donned his battle armor. He had never had the need to use it in real combat, but the symbolic nature of it filled him with determination to see this battle through to its bitter end. No matter what decision he had wanted to make before this moment, he no longer had a choice. The Colds’ ship was here, and it was going to destroy the _Legacy_. “Shield status?” he barked at the helmsman, doing his best to maintain some semblance of order in the crew’s final moments.

“Seventy five per cent,” the helmsman responded. “Prince Vegeta took the brunt of it, so I guess we can finally thank him for something.” 

Bardock’s lip curled into a smirk. “So he does know the honor of a Saiyan,” he whispered to himself. He turned to where Raditz dutifully sat at his right hand, watching the captain’s every move. 

“Are you going to let me take a pod out there and help them?” he asked. 

Bardock snorted. “The only reason I let _Kakarot_ go is because he has proven his mettle as a Starfleet officer and has a head for strategy. All you’ve proven to me is that you are prone to making rash decisions and that you don’t think things through. You’ll get yourself killed out there.” 

Raditz opened his mouth to retort, but Bardock held up his hand to silence his eldest’s sharp tongue. “I don’t want to hear it. You’ll be of more used to me here. We are going to out-maneuver these bastards. They have a century’s worth of red-hot anger and revenge as their motivation. We’ve had the last 90 years to formulate a plan.” 

“Is _that_ why you didn’t evacuate?” Raditz asked incredulously. “Because of some plan based off antiquated tactics?” 

Bardock’s lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t appreciate the insubordination, but his eldest had never learned the true respect due his father and captain, and he considered it one of his greatest shortcomings as a parent. Perhaps Raditz simply wasn’t fit to be his successor, and now that Kakarot had returned to them with the experience of a Starfleet officer under his belt, he could take up the reins of the _Legacy_ instead. He turned toward Raditz and fixed the younger Saiyan in a hard stare. “Toma, put me through to Kakarot,” he commanded the helmsman without taking his eyes off his son. 

“Patching him through now,” Toma responded dutifully. 

The visage of his younger self flickered onscreen with a scowl that made Bardock think he was looking in a mirror. “Kakarot,” Bardock addressed the boy. “I need you to return to the _Legacy_ immediately.” 

_“I’m afraid I can’t. Lieutenant Vegeta’s pod was badly damaged in the attack, and I am towing him to safety so we can regroup.”_

Bardock should have expected outright defiance, but the tone of his youngest son’s voice made Raditz’s insubordination seem like ass-kissing and adulation. “That’s an _order,_ Commander,” he barked. 

“With all due respect, sir, you might be my father, but you are not my captain.” The transmission cut out at the same moment the ship-wide alarms began to blare. 

“Incoming attack,” Toma said, his eyes wide with fear. “And they’re giving us everything.” 

“Begin evasive maneuvers,” Bardock commanded, sitting back in his chair and clasping his hands. Now was the moment of truth.

===============

Gine was right. Gine was _always_ right. Bardock wiped the blood oozing from his lip and contemplated it on the back of his hand for a long moment. There was no way out of this. The _Nimbus_ had the resources, technology, and know-how to get itself back on its feet in a fraction of the time it would take for _Legacy_ to be spaceworthy again. He opened a hailing frequency and waited for the other ship to respond--which it did, almost instantaneously.

“Nimbus, are you able to take on our rescue pods?” 

_“Affirmative,_ Legacy _, but you need to know our shields are still down,”_ their human captain replied.

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Bardock said, grunting as another torpedo pummelled the generation ship. “Their chances are better there than they are here.”

_“I’m glad you’ve come around, Captain. We’ll use the transporter in conjunction with your liferaft pods to speed things up. Our medical bay is ready to receive your injured.”_

Toma and the other bridge officers got straight to work, setting their stations to automatic and rushing to carry out Bardock’s orders to make sure their families made it away safely. Raditz took charge of beam-outs before taking several pilots to launch the remainder of their battle pods to help escort the other evacuees. 

Bardock turned silently toward his wife, whose eyes were filled with the same compassion they always had been. “You must go with them,” he said.

“I want to stay,” Gine replied, arms crossed. Bardock got the sense that she knew what he was planning, even if it was a last-ditch effort--but then, she’d always been the intuitive one. 

Even with the time it took to organize, the evacuation ran as smoothly as it possibly could during a battle. Bardock manned the helm, its familiar controls feeling like home beneath his calloused, old palms. It was all he could do to shield the pods from view as they made the short but arduous journey to _Nimbus_ , who had yet to re-attract the Ice-jin’s ire. 

Once the last of the pods was a safe enough distance away, Bardock confirmed with the ship computer that they were the last Saiyans aboard and initiated the protocol to beam himself and Gine off the ship. But as the countdown began, he heard a series of explosions off the port bow, and when he turned on the viewscreen, he was horrified to see the fragmented remains of what had to be at least 40 pods scattering in all directions before turning its attention toward the _Nimbus_. 

No.

_No._

Their _sons_ were out there. He caught Gine’s eyes and knew she was thinking the same.

===============

“ _Nimbus_ , are you reading me?” Launch asked for the third time before turning to her Saiyan counterpart. “Nothing. Either their communication array has been damaged, or--”

“Don’t say it,” Bulma cut her off. “Please. I can’t bear to think the worst.” 

Launch smiled at her sympathetically. “I’m sure they’ll be fine, ambassador. We’ll be at the space station soon.” 

Rabi turned from where he had been writing on his padd and faced the women silently. 

“You look like you’ve got a plan,” Launch said, encouraging him to speak up. 

“It is a research space station, is it not?” he asked, gears turning in his head as his tail thrashed about, untethered from his waist in uncharacteristic fashion. 

“Yes. I’m afraid they don’t house starships on a regular basis, so there’s no one in this sector to help right now. The nearest assistance is at least two days away.” 

Rubbing his chin, Rabi looked back down to his padd. “But like every space station, they do house an abundance of Saiyan-made evacuation pods.” 

“Where are you going with this?” Launch asked, tilting her head to the side in confusion. 

Bulma’s eyes shot up to meet the councilman’s. “Saiyan pods move faster than any other ship in Starfleet, _especially_ when they’re on autopilot,” she said, and Rabi nodded. “But they’re not armed with enough firepower to take down a vessel over a thousand times their size.” 

“If I’m not mistaken, the type of research undertaken at this facility deals with experimental energy sources,” Rabi replied, growing impatient that they weren’t following his train of thought. “ _Unstable_ energy sources.” 

“Are you suggesting we create makeshift bombs out of those Saiyan pods?” Chichi asked, speaking up for the first time in hours. 

Rabi nodded. 

“Do it,” Bulma said quietly. 

After the space station agreed to do what it could, all the inhabitants of the _Junpak’t_ could do was wait. It took barely any time at all before the proximity sensor started beeping like crazy. 

“Those must be the pods,” Launch said. “That was quick. Holy--they’re going warp _nine_.” 

“I told you they’re fast,” Bulma said. 

“That was an understatement,” Launch chuckled. “They’ll be there before we know it.” 

“Just a couple more minutes, in fact,” Rabi said. 

“We need to go back,” Bulma said. “We have to make sure it worked.” 

No matter how long that took, Bulma knew it would feel like an eternity.

===============

As the Ice-jin vessel pummeled _Nimbus_ with wave after wave of torpedoes and other assorted projectiles and energy weapons, reports came in from all decks of damage and casualties. It was a small miracle that the bridge itself hadn’t yet been damaged, but it was only a matter of time before the swath of destruction made its way there.

They watched helplessly as another batch of pods was destroyed. It was like the Ice-jin were toying with them, showing them the extent they were willing to go with only a fraction of their full power. 

With three of his officers out on the front line and not responding to any of _Nimbus’s_ hails, it was anybody’s guess if they were even alive or not. Roshi pushed those thoughts from his mind and was thankful in no small way that at least the ambassador had made it off-ship safely, and that perhaps the _Junpak’t_ would be able to alert a passing vessel to send assistance. 

From the viewscreen, Roshi’s heart fell as he saw a volley of torpedoes headed right for the bridge. 

The captain was prepared to die, as much as any man really could be prepared for his life to be cut short prematurely. “It’s been an honor,” he announced to the crew on the bridge as they braced for impact.

Long moments passed.

The tension on the bridge raised exponentially with each second that ticked by. “They say you never feel the one that gets you,” someone mused aloud, breaking the collective silence of silently uttered prayers. 

Roshi cracked an eye open. The torpedos should have hit them by now, but in their place were the shattered remains of another Saiyan pod. His chest tightened; somebody had just sacrificed themselves to save the bridge, however short-lived a victory it would turn out to be. Whoever they were, Roshi wouldn’t forget them. But his gratitude turned to confusion as even more pods dropped out of warp, seemingly from out of nowhere. Where had they come from, he wondered, and who was flying them?

He watched in fascination as they flew abreast of each other, their trajectory leading past _Nimbus_ and straight for the Ice-jin vessel.

Had they been sent in response to the distress signal? 

Was help finally on its way?

The captain was not one to lose hope in a desperate situation, but with Starfleet spread so thin and the fate of an entire city’s worth of souls resting on his shoulders, he wasn’t feeling optimistic. With weary eyes, he watched as the remaining pods careened toward their target. 

The Ice-jin weapons turned to focus on the more immediate threat, and Roshi cringed as one pod after another blew up before reaching its target. Something about the blasts piqued his interest, though, and he zoomed the viewscreen in just in time to see another one explode, scattering shrapnel for hundreds of kilometers. 

Those pods were filled with explosives. 

They had to have been sent by the _Junpak’t_. 

As the remaining pods careened toward their target, Roshi shielded his eyes from the blinding blue-white flash of the resulting explosion when they reached their destination. The bridge was cast in a brilliant glow, and moments later, the shockwave sent the _Nimbus_ spinning uncontrollably away and knocked out shipwide power and communications. Once the light receded and the back-up power kicked in, the officers gasped in collective shock. The Ice-jin vessel had been almost entirely destroyed, and the bridge erupted in cheers. 

But their celebration was short-lived. 

“Sir,” Yamcha gasped. “There are still life-signs on the Ice-jin vessel.” His hands sped across the dials, then he turned toward the captain with an alarmed expression. 

“Well, what is it?” 

“They’re powering up their weapons, sir.” 

The _Nimbus_ could not take another beating like it did before. Their shields were barely repaired, and what little protection they could afford would be dashed to pieces in moments with the photon cannons the Ice-jin were about to fire.

Their only hope now was that somebody else had heard and responded to their distress beacon.

===============

The Ice-jin vessel fought like a dying animal, thrashing out at everything that moved too close. Whoever had sent those explosive-filled Saiyan pods had angered the Ice-jin beyond belief, and they redoubled their efforts to destroy the Saiyan population with a fiery vengeance.

Another squadron of evacuation pods blew to smithereens, and a great piercing sorrow overwhelmed Bardock for a long moment as he fought back the tears that eagerly sprang to his eyes. His mate, his life partner, his _woman_... was willing to die by his side to ensure the safety of everything they’d worked for. But how could he let her do that when it was _his_ decisions, _his_ stubbornness that had led to this?

He clenched his fist, beating it against the arm of his chair. “No,” he said, voice barely louder than a whisper before turning to face his wife. “Gine, you must go. If I don’t make it out of this, you need to be there for our sons--both of them, because they are _our_ legacy.” He gripped her tiny hands in his and stared deep into her eyes. The same stubborn frown she’d hand since they were young and in love all those years ago rested prettily on her lips, and he knew she would protest his decision. He would expect nothing less--he loved her determination above everything else. 

But Bardock wanted her smile to be the last thing he saw before he faced death. He _needed_ it--so he cupped her chin with his hand and pressed his lips to hers, lingering for as long as he could allow himself as another barrage rocked the ship. 

She did smile at him when they pulled apart, but it was small and sad and shattered his heart into a million little pieces. “They may be our legacy, Bardock, but _you_ are the love of my life. I made a vow to stay by your side through thick and thin, war and peace, and I intend to keep it whether you want me to or not. I _love_ you, gods damn it!” 

“And I love you, Gine,” Bardock said, studying her face like he never wanted to forget what she looked like. He stroked his thumb down her cheek again before taking a deep breath. _Nimbus,_ if you can hear me, prepare to receive one passenger.” 

Then Bardock flicked a switch on the console before she could react and closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see her anger as she dissolved into thin air.

As soon as she was gone, he let his anger surge as he maneuvered _Legacy_ into position, preparing the battered engines for full impulse to ram into the enemy vessel. Those were families, friends, _brothers in arms_ \--all eliminated in a fucking massacre by the ruthless Ice-jin, and all for the sake of petty revenge. With his heart pounding, he recorded a final message to _Nimbus_ for Gine and his remaining crew to hear after he was gone, and then he engaged the thrusters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :'(


	8. Part Seven

Vegeta coughed and sputtered. By some miracle, Commander Son had managed to pull him aboard his own pod, an antiquated thing from _Legacy_ ’s small fleet. There was room for two, and Vegeta found himself in the co-pilot’s seat as the commander expertly maneuvered through the debris blocking their path at every turn. 

“Lieutenant, that explosion knocked us way off course, but I finally have a visual on _Nimbus_ ,” Goku announced into the short-range. 

_“Acknowledged,”_ came Lieutenant Piccolo’s staticky reply. 

Vegeta rubbed his throbbing head. How long had he been out, anyway? “Why aren’t you using subspace?” he asked, shifting to get a better view of the starship in front of them. 

“Communications are spotty. How are you feeling, Lieutenant?” Goku replied, his usual happy-go-lucky manner replaced by a clipped, no-nonsense tone. 

“Like I’ll survive,” Vegeta replied, squinting into the distance. “What’s all that debris from?” He turned to look at the commander, whose face was set into a deep frown. 

“Sir?” he pressed after a long moment of silence. 

Goku sighed. “The evacuation pods. The Ice-jin hit the evacuation pods.” 

“Legacy evacuated?” Vegeta asked first, incredulous that Bardock had actually gone through with it. Then the horror set in as he understood what Goku was saying. “How many were destroyed?” 

Goku shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t tell from here, but _Nimbus_ looks like they’re already receiving the first of the convoy, so at least some must have survived the assault.” He took a deep breath in through his nose and closed his eyes. “Those poor people.” 

“ _Our_ poor people,” Vegeta corrected, his frown matching the other Saiyan’s. A great sense of loss struck him right through the heart as another shockwave tossed their pod into the field of debris.

===============

Roshi stood solemnly and surveyed the wreckage of the _Legacy_. He had watched helplessly as her captain sacrificed himself to prevent the further massacre of his people, the transporters unable to gain a solid enough lock on him to pull him out in time before the generation vessel rammed full-force into the Ice-jins.

Half of the Saiyans were already aboard, including Bardock’s wife Gine. More evacuees arrived every second, but as news of the pods’ destruction spread, Roshi could almost feel the crushing weight of their collective pain at the center of his very being. 

“Were there any survivors aboard _Legacy?_ ” he asked quietly, hoping against hope not to hear the answer he feared. 

“Negative, sir,” came Yamcha’s forlorn reply.

===============

“I can’t see anything through the debris, Captain,” Yamcha said. “The sensors were all knocked out when _Legacy_ crashed. They’ll have to rely on visual contact to find their way back.”

Roshi nodded his acknowledgement as he watched through the viewscreen for any sign of movement, willing his officers back to the _Nimbus_ \--if they were alive at all. The shockwave had sent everything within a 500-kilometer radius wildly off-course. He only hoped they hadn’t been demolished by the wreckage and that their rations and air supply would last until they found their way home. With all but the most vital systems non-functional on _Nimbus_ , he had no way to scan for life-signs, acquire a transporter lock, or even communicate with any nearby vessels. 

As the minutes dragged into hours, Roshi couldn’t help but mentally prepare what he might say in a eulogy should any of them not make it back alive. 

He knew Commander Son would receive posthumous accolades for his incredible service to Starfleet. Even as a cadet, he showed incredible promise, and after the academy he had climbed steadily through the ranks, twice receiving field promotions for heroic effort and excellent leadership during crisis situations. He was the youngest first officer in Starfleet, maybe even the Federation, and his loss would ripple throughout the quadrant. 

Lieutenant Vegeta was a valuable member of his crew as well. As the first Saiyan royal born after the warrior race joined the Federation, he was chosen to pursue a life among the stars. He was headstrong and proud, but fiercely loyal and followed orders as easily as he gave them. He often hid his complicated feelings from all but those closest to him, and even they were lucky to get a glimpse at the maelstrom that swirled inside the prince’s head. The loss of his stalwart presence aboard _Nimbus_ would leave a hole in the old captain’s heart. 

And then there was Lieutenant Piccolo. The stoic Namekian was a man of few words, but Roshi’s respect grew for him each time they had served alongside one another. Often the most level-headed of his officers, the lieutenant could be counted on for the same wise advice any of his brethren would be willing and eager to bestow, but delivered in as monotone a voice as possible. He was different from the rest of the Namekian race, not quite an outcast (since the Namekians didn’t believe in such things), but not quite _one of them_ , either. 

It was the families that Roshi didn’t want to face most of all. It was never easy contacting the parents and siblings of a fallen crewman, but when the relationship was as personal as it was between the captain and his officers…

He never was good at maintaining his decorum in those situations. His hope was beginning to stretch thin. Quietly, he requested the status of their system repairs even though he knew it would be another day at least before they were well-equipped enough to begin a proper search. 

Roshi had fallen asleep in his chair, choosing to remain on the bridge until there was news. The communications officer on night duty nudged him gently awake. 

“Sir,” the young woman said. “We have communications. We’re back in touch with the _Junpak’t_.”

===============

Hundreds of lives lost, and the fate of the rest uncertain. Bulma squeezed Chichi’s hand as the captain reported the dire situation. The worst was over, but now they were in crisis management mode, and he didn’t have time to give them any details except that they still hadn’t heard back from Commander Son or Lieutenants Vegeta and Piccolo.

Even Chichi’s dependable optimism was suffering, though she tried to hide it. A tear slid down the empath’s cheek, and she turned toward Bulma with big, bright eyes. “They’re gonna make it,” she whispered. “Right?” Bulma knew that she had to deal with her own emotions on top of everyone else’s in the _Junpak’t_ , so she just nodded in response, taking her turn being the strong one. 

 

But then panic struck and pierced the thin veil of her courage, breaking down the wall that separated her inner feelings from the calm she aimed to project and causing her to retreat back into herself. If Vegeta didn’t make it, she wouldn’t just lose the father of her unborn child. She would be losing her oldest friend, the one person in the universe who understood how torn she felt, having a foot in two different worlds. 

She’d be losing the love of her life, and she didn’t want to imagine her future if he wasn’t in it. 

Bulma screwed her eyes shut, praying to any higher power that was listening that he could feel her through their bond when she pleaded for his safe return. _Please, Vegeta. I need you. I_ love _you. Please come home._

A surge of emotion washed over her--feelings that were like hers, but that didn’t _belong_ to her. She opened her eyes to glance over at Chichi, who was still staring out the window forlornly, then over at Launch and Rabi, who were busy piloting the ship and preparing to render aid to any pods that were stranded from _Nimbus_. Then she felt it again: an overwhelming sense that things were going to be okay. She locked eyes with Chichi, who gaped back at her. 

“You feel it, too?” she whispered, quivering lips turning upward into a tentative smile, then a full-fledged grin before she started crying from sheer relief. 

Of course she would have a bond with her own mate, too. 

Bulma leapt forward to envelop her friend in a tight hug as Roshi announced that they’d found the pods. 

Vegeta was coming home.


	9. Epilogue

In all her years living on Vegeta-sei, Bulma had never been to a single wedding. They were often closed-off, private affairs: a simple ceremony to announce to the mates’ closest friends and family that they were a bonded couple. 

But in all her years living on Vegeta-sei, there had never been a royal wedding.

As she nervously awaited her summons down the flowing gold-and-white carpet that comprised the aisle, Bulma tried to get a peek at the familiar faces all throughout the massive audience. Near the front, she saw her mother and father beaming as proudly as parents of a soon-to-be princess consort possibly could. In the next rows back, she spotted Captain Roshi, Admiral Kami, and several ambassadors from various systems throughout the quadrant. Lieutenant Piccolo and Lieutenant Commander Krillin sat alongside many of their academy friends and crewmen from each vessel they’d worked on. The rest of the rows were filled with Saiyan councillors, Saiyan military officials, Starfleet officers, friends, and distant relatives, as well as many of the surviving crew of the _Legacy_. 

An exception had been granted to allow Chichi to stand in as a bridesmaid even though she wasn’t Saiyan, but the duty of matron of honor fell to Gine, Goku and Raditz’s mother. 

Standing up for the prince were Goku, known to many of the Saiyans now as Kakarot, and Raditz, who was still recovering from the battle but held himself with all the grace and dignity expected of a groomsman. 

Presiding over the wedding was King Vegeta himself, standing tall and regal in his resplendent gold ceremonial armor. 

And Prince Vegeta stood facing his father, red cape brushing against the floor with each minuscule movement of its wearer. 

Then the music started and Bulma took her first steps down the aisle and toward her new life with her husband.

===============

The homeworld Saiyans weren’t much for parties, but they sure knew how to throw a feast. The bride and groom sat at the head table with the pick of the crop spread out in front of them.

Similar to Earth weddings, there were speeches, toasts, and a few words said by the king welcoming Bulma as the first non-Saiyan member of the royal family. Then he gave them a knowing look and invited them to stand and say a few words. 

Bulma’s heart raced with anticipation. Nobody outside of their immediate family and Dr. Korin knew their surprise, and she had been impatient to announce it ever since stepping foot back on Vegeta-sei after the mission. She was only just beginning to show, but the traditional royal wedding garb for brides was comprised of long and flowing dresses that hid her growing figure. 

Vegeta helped her stand before stoically clasping his hands behind his back. “Thank you all for attending this historical celebration. Today, we honor the first royal wedding between Saiyans and Humans. We are proud make public the news that my wife, Bulma, is expecting our first child.” 

A happy murmur rippled through the audience as people looked at each other in surprise before one of the Saiyan Generals burst into applause, and everyone else followed suit. 

“Now please,” Vegeta said once the ruckus had died down. “Eat and enjoy yourselves.” 

A band of musicians in the corner took their cue to begin a soft melody that had been a favorite of the happy couple’s back in their academy days.

Bulma caught Goku’s eye from where he was conversing with a diplomat and summoned him over, but furrowed her brow in confusion when he brought along a small child wearing a green hat with a peculiar orange orb on top. Chichi joined him halfway to his destination, and the two adults took turns hugging the bride as the boy watched on with his thumb in his mouth. 

“And who’s this?” Bulma asked, crouching down to meet the boy at eye level and smiling invitingly. 

He hid behind his mother’s skirt, peeking out shyly from behind the fabric. 

“This is our son, Gohan,” Goku announced proudly. 

Bulma’s jaw dropped. “You have a _son_ , too?” 

“No more surprises, I promise. Gohan, say hello to the princess.” 

Gohan stared wide-eyed up at his father, who nodded encouragingly, before turning his fearful gaze back to Bulma. “Hello,” he whispered. 

“Go on, tell her how old you are,” Goku encouraged. 

Gohan held out four fingers and then ducked behind Chichi again, ready to be out of the spotlight. 

Bulma straightened up again and placed her hand on her belly. “Well, Chichi, you’ll be hearing from me about raising a half-Saiyan son.” 

“I’ll send a care package,” Chichi said as deadpan as possible before breaking out a grin. “You’re going to need it.” 

Goku stiffened up next to her, eyes locking on a point past Bulma’s shoulder before bowing out of respect for the proud father-to-be as he approached his wife. “Prince Vegeta,” Goku acknowledged. “Congratulations.” 

Bulma turned to face her husband, whose face cracked the tiniest hint of a smile. “Thank you,” he said. “Now if you’ll excuse us, we have important matters to attend to.” 

Chichi shot her friend a knowing look and herded her family back toward the buffet table, waving her fingers over her shoulder at the newlyweds. “Alright, boys,” she said with a grin, turning back to them. “Let’s get you some more food.”

===============

Bulma’s round belly filled out nearly every square inch of room in her gown. She cradled her hands beneath it, soothing her rambunctious unborn child as Prince Vegeta prepared to speak to the assembled crowd beneath the podium. Raditz stood to Bulma’s right, decked out (and uncomfortable) in his newly-appointed captain’s regalia, and Goku stood to her left, looking dapper in his formal Commander’s uniform.

Vegeta scanned the crowd with his dark gaze and cleared his throat. “Today,” he began, his deep voice booming out across the masses. “We honor those brave men and women who set out intrepid among the stars a hundred years ago aboard the generation ship _Legacy_. Saiyans of every class and rank left behind their homes and families to forge a new life in the cosmos, not knowing the perils that lay ahead. 

 

“Standing among us now are their descendents, whom we welcome home to a different and better Vegeta-sei than the one their ancestors left so many decades ago. And finally, we honor our fallen brethren who did not live to see the place their forefathers called home. 

“This monument before you will serve as a reminder of everything they lost,” he continued, gesturing to the newly-unveiled statue behind him. He glanced at the reunited brothers behind him. “And of everything they found. The meaning of life is to spend it for something that will outlast it, and Vegeta-sei stands united behind its sons and daughters as they set out once again among the stars.” 

Bulma watched as he took a long moment, surveying the gathered Federation diplomats and Starfleet officers alike before taking a deep breath. 

“To say a few words in honor of his late father, who saved thousands of lives by his heroic actions, I would now like to invite Captain Raditz to the stage.” 

Bulma watched the enormous Saiyan stood with trepidation at the podium, sweating nervous bullets before the crowd as he adjusted his uniform. She felt a surge of affection for him, not unlike what she felt for Goku, and she turned to smile at her still-seated friend as Raditz began to speak. 

Vegeta took his place next to his wife. “He’ll make a fine captain,” he murmured in an undertone, leaning over so only she could hear. 

Bulma nodded. “I agree.” 

Then he swallowed and reached over almost subconsciously to rub her protruding stomach, turning imperceptibly toward her with a question in his eyes. “Our son will be a child of two worlds, just like us. Do you think we’ll be good parents to him?” 

She rested her hand on top of his and gave it a squeeze, glancing over his handsome, worried features with a reassuring smile. “Yeah,” she said, her stomach flexing as their unborn son expressed his agreement. “I think we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please please please let me know what you thought of this story, my first complete storyline I've ever written in its entirety before posting. <3 I can't wait to read your comments!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading and I look forward to hearing all of your thoughts! 
> 
> Come join [Vegebulocracy](https://discord.gg/baFvKBq) on Discord and [check me out on Tumblr](http://jadefyre.tumblr.com). <3


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